Rarely Resisted
by 6Dylan9
Summary: Sometimes resistance is err ... futile. Set around the time between 'Fury' and 'Resurrection', early in season 2. Cara/Kahlan. Mature content.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Contains Femslash, so if you don't like the idea of two girls being 'close' please read another story.

Chapter One

Cara has been a great addition to our party as we search for the Stone of Tears. She's a wonderful fighter and we've all had to thank her more than once for saving us in some way. She also hunts better than Richard - although I wouldn't tell him that to his face - and though it's sometimes difficult to get a conversation out of her the things she does say often have me fighting back a chuckle. Other times, the things she says make me nod in agreement, especially when her plans make more sense than anybody else's.

Our newest companion is smart, astute, keen to serve Richard and therefore both Zedd and I, and I'm glad she's with us now I've managed to push aside my feelings about her role in my sister's death. The problem is . . . she's not as quiet as she thinks she is.

Nearly every night now for the past month I've heard her; her breath coming quickly, her body moving within the rough blanket she sleeps naked underneath, little moans that make me shudder as I lay still whilst pretending not to listen. I knew Mord-Sith were built for pleasure as much as pain but I'm really not sure it's necessary for her to pleasure herself quite so much. Occasionally, if the forest we're in is still and silent and I'm close enough to her . . . I can even hear how wet Cara is. I know that her fingers are moving against herself, going inside sometimes, giving herself pleasure. It leaves me balancing uncomfortably between feeling embarrassed and aroused and I don't know if I can take it one more night.

I'm certain neither Zedd nor Richard have heard her. She normally chooses to do it when Zedd is on watch, and he's too busy eating whatever rations we have to notice her movements. I also always sleep closer to her than either man. It often feels too close and I curse the fact I have such good hearing.

I haven't told her I've been able to hear her of course, but somehow I doubt she'd exactly feel the same sense of embarrassment that I myself would. Though I can tell she tries to keep quiet she's still doing it right there in our camp, so if she were hoping to be completely discreet surely she'd do it while she's off hunting or bathing. I can't say I understand, and it's starting to make it almost impossible for me to sleep – for various reasons – but I can't tell her to stop. I'm not even sure I want her to stop.

It's just . . . it's driving me a little crazy.

The first night I heard her I buried my head further into my blanket and tried to ignore what she was obviously doing. Her breath was shuddering and as she finished a stifled moan escaped that only I heard. I dared to take a peek at her from under my blanket when it seemed safe enough to do so; she was lying on her side, having shuffled around to get comfortable, and she had the most peaceful expression on her face as her eyelids drifted shut.

Having never seen her looking quite so relaxed I couldn't feel angry at her for doing what she had – obviously she'd needed it. I could empathise, even though her actions had shocked me a little.

By the end of that week I was getting used to waking up to hear the muffled breaths and the shifting blanket not far from my own. We hadn't been near a town for a while, nor passed any fellow travellers so I imagined that the lack of her usual source of outlet – taking a stranger – was having more of an effect on her than was probably healthy. I almost wanted to talk to her about it but I knew she'd either dismiss it or just make a crude remark. I was beginning to feel bad for her, however. Surely if such a need was so strong that she had to do it right by me with no shame then there was something wrong.

There was no way for me to know why she felt the necessity to take comfort from release nearly every night; I'm not Mord-Sith and can't begin to understand what their needs are. For all I know it could be some form of self-punishment. I was clueless but I wanted to help, though I wasn't certain why I wanted to help, and felt somewhat strange for thinking about it so much. But I didn't feel it necessary _not_ to think about it, which was probably a mistake.

As the nights passed I found myself thinking about it in other ways. My own body would react to her sounds without my permission and I began listening instead of trying not to. I thought about where her hands were and how it might have felt. It made me angry at her, and at myself for feeling guilty. The things she had me imagining made it impossible to continue thinking of Richard in the same way. Truth be told, I'd never really thought much about being close to Richard in that way anyway as it always just felt . . . wrong - for many reasons.

With Cara it's clearly different. I can't stop my mind when it comes to her.

So now I lay closer to her than I used to and she continues to pleasure herself on a near nightly schedule – even though we've gone through several towns lately. I no longer want to talk to her about it as I'm worried she'd guess I haven't exactly been ignoring it; she might think that I'm intruding or being strange for listening in the first place. And every night I feel my own body become more aroused because of her.

Hearing the wet slide of her fingers almost makes me moan as if they were against me and not her. I grip my blanket and feel horrid because it's almost as if I'm betraying Richard. I grip my blanket and will myself not to allow my fingers to roam my own body the way Cara does her own. There's no way I can succumb to that as every one of my companions would feel the pulse of my magic as I reached release.

This past month has left me more frustrated than I've ever felt before in my life. I don't think I can take it anymore.

She's sitting across the fire from me now, finishing the meal she killed for us. I hardly touched my own; too occupied with my thoughts, with my feelings. Her eyes are dark against the flickering orange flame and she looks on edge, as dangerous as ever. Cara is a beautiful but fierce woman, and anybody would be blind not to see both and become affected in someway by both. I can't keep telling myself that she has no effect on me in that way when she does. I'm growing rather attracted to her and there seems to be no way to stop myself.

I've done my best to concentrate on how I feel for Richard – or how I once felt – but it's no use. Every time I look at Cara I see something new that I like or admire. Knowing I must be crazy for admiring a Mord-Sith in any way has me irritable and grumpy. I snapped at Richard twice today when he didn't deserve it, earning a frown from Zedd and a raised eyebrow from Cara. A perfect, adorable, sexy eyebrow.

Indeed, I even find her eyebrows attractive and I've never noticed something as silly as a person's eyebrows before. It's almost as if I'm under some kind of spell, but I know that isn't so; I'd have felt something like that and it wouldn't have been gradual. This has crept up on me and is holding me in its fierce grip with no inkling of letting go. So here I sit just looking at her, aware that if anybody noticed they'd wonder what was wrong or imagine that I had an issue with her.

It is an issue, but not of the kind either Richard or Zedd would guess.

Doing my best to look away, I place my plate down on the ground beside me and rub my hands over the leather of my dress. My eyes take in the swell of the fire as it hisses and crackles between us and I wish away all thoughts of Cara that stir feelings in me I can't understand, feelings that leave me confused as much as tingling with all the possibilities of what Cara could do to me, with me.

But my eyes betray me once again and my gaze lifts to Cara, travelling over the red leather that hugs her perfectly, the flash of skin as the material gapes open to reveal the soft curve of breasts that now haunt my thoughts. I want to push my hand inside that leather and touch, feel the warm skin, the hardening of her nipples as they react to my fingers. I want my lips to know their taste, their texture. I want them to know Cara in a way that makes me blush, that makes me burn hotter than the fire at my feet.

I've never felt such desire before, not even for the man I'm supposed to be in love with, and certainly never for a woman.

I pull my gaze away from Cara with difficulty, ignoring the small dribble of sauce from the stew that's teasing at Cara's bottom lip. It takes all of my willpower not to stalk over there and lick her lips clean, indulge, take what I desperately want. I can't do such a thing and if I did I have no doubt my companions, including Cara, would think I've gone quite mad.

Stilling the pounding of my heart as my thoughts do all they can to make me burst with want I look over at Richard as he sits sharpening his sword. His face is relaxed, eyes soft as he pulls a stone methodically up and down the blade. He's a good man, worthy of love, of my love, but something has changed in me. I don't see him the same as I did. I don't gaze upon him and long to be with him anymore. I still love him, but I'm not sure it's the same kind of love it once was. How could it be if I'm thinking about Cara in all the ways I'm supposed to think about Richard?

How can I truly say I'm in love with him when my desire is for another?

He glances up and catches my eye, a tender smile lifting his lips. I smile back, but I feel sad, untrue. I need to talk with him if I can't shake myself out of this web Cara seems to have weaved around me.

Maybe I just need time and I'll find myself as in love with him as I was before. I'll find myself dreaming of my life with him instead of heady fantasies about the Mord-Sith I should hate. It might be foolish of me to believe time will help, but it's all I have unless I take myself away from the situation. And I can't do that; I can't leave Richard, and I couldn't possibly ask Cara to go. Not only would it puzzle my companions if I made such a request but I don't want her to go. I would worry about her. I would want to follow.

Taking a deep breath and letting out a sigh I had no intention of releasing, Richard's smile turns into a small frown.

"Are you ok, Kahlan?" he asks, that gentle tone of his making me still feel for him, though in a way that doesn't even begin to touch how Cara's voice now makes me feel.

"I'm fine," I answer with a nod, forcing another smile.

I notice Cara looking up at me and avoid those intense green eyes that strip away every part of me. Aching inside my own skin I feel awkward and insecure, silly and immature. I don't know how to deal with this, nor do I know how to keep my thoughts to myself without breaking.

Suddenly wishing my sister was here with me so I could talk to her, gain her advice, my heart thuds heavily in my chest and for the first time in a long time I feel completely alone. Lost. There's nobody to confide in and I couldn't possibly speak with Richard about this, or with Cara. It would hurt Richard terribly, and who knows how Cara would react? She'd probably be smug and sarcastic, but I couldn't hope for her to feel the same. I don't even think it would be wise for her to feel the same – it would complicate things too much. It would cause too many problems. It's better if I continue to keep this inside, to ignore it as best I can.

I can't be with Cara, even if she would want such a thing.

One thing I know for certain is that I can't lay and listen to her pleasure herself any longer during the night. I either need to ask her to stop, or I need to stay as far away from her as possible – without bringing attention to the fact I'm moving further away instead of closer, as I've been doing of late.

Deciding that it's probably best to do that now, I pick up my plate, passing it to Zedd as his eyes light up with the abundance of food still on it. He nods his head in thanks and I move to my bedroll, taking it under my arm and walking to the far end of camp, much further away from the fire than I'd normally sleep. Hopefully my camp mates won't ask why or decide to follow me and place their own bedrolls close to me; I don't want to have to explain myself.

Richard's gaze keeps track of me, watching as I arrange my blankets then sit down and begin to unlace my boots. I can tell he wants to ask why I've moved so far away but I refuse to catch his eye so he's hesitant to say anything; the bad mood I've been in obviously encouraging him to stay silent. Zedd doesn't seem to notice, and Cara . . . she glances my way but also says nothing, finishing her meal and wiping at her lips, making a point of not paying me any further attention.

Hopefully I'll get a good night's sleep tonight. I'm on watch after Cara tonight, as arranged earlier, so there's a good chance she'll be asleep by the time I come back to my bedroll, and as she's first on watch there's less chance in the night for me to overhear anything that might have me reacting in all the wrong ways. I'd suggested the switch in watches earlier, hoping to avoid what's quickly become a nightly ritual in which Zedd stays watch first, meaning Cara and I go to bed at the same time.

As Richard drops off easily to sleep it's always left Cara and I in our own little bubble – though Cara probably isn't aware that that's how I've come to regard it. Zedd paid no attention, but being closer to Cara with each night that passed meant I was inevitably going to end up extremely frustrated by the time I got back up for my own watch.

I'm sure tonight will be different. It has to be.

Getting under my blanket I turn to Richard and give him a quick smile. He still seems concerned but I know he'll leave me be at least until morning. I plan to be asleep quickly tonight though I have to be up for my turn on watch in a few candle marks. Cara didn't seem to mind that we switched things up, just shrugging her shoulders and agreeing when I proposed the changes. Sometimes I never know how she's going to react to things. She doesn't like being told what to do, but often she'll just go with the flow. It leaves me more confused about her than ever, but I guess I'm still learning about Cara, and I'm always eager to know more.

She's the most intriguing person I think I've ever met. Her moods often confound me, but somehow I just know that we can trust her. She has a history I don't think I want to know every detail of, but I find myself wondering about her life. There's certainly more to Cara than meets the eye. She draws me to her without even knowing it.

As I settle into my blankets I turn my back on the fire and my three companions around it, peering out into the forest before closing my eyes. All I can hear is the crackle of the fire, the ring of Richard's sword as he sharpens the blade to a glimmering point, Zedd's munching and Cara being completely quiet.

I find myself listening to her quietness, to her lack of words, waiting for any sound she makes. It's silly of me and beginning to irritate me, and I know she's getting under my skin in ways that are dangerous. I don't think it's just about wanting her anymore, or finding her beautiful, it's more than that and it frightens me. She's Mord-Sith. She's my complete opposite and everything that I should despise and fear, but she has depths that I find myself longing to discover.

Her silence crawls over my skin like insects and I want to scratch and twist, fighting them off. Fighting her off.

Sleep doesn't come quickly at all.

By the time Richard and Zedd place their own bedrolls and settle down for the night at least one candle mark has passed and I'm still wide awake, having listened out for every sound that Cara made – a few words to Richard, a sigh, a mumble about the dwindling rations, a sneeze that made me smile. She's arranging herself on a log by the fire now, ready to pass the time on watch. The need to turn over so I can study Cara, watch her without her noticing, is almost impossible to resist but I do. I have to.

Squeezing my eyes closed I focus on my own breathing, filtering out all the sounds around me. I try to think of Richard but it leaves me feeling miserable so I still my mind completely, thinking of anything and everything that doesn't involve Cara in some way. It begins to work and I find myself relaxing, ready to rest for a while as the night slides by.

When I find myself being woken gently by a hand on my shoulder it takes me a moment to gather my thoughts. Opening my eyes I look up to see Cara leaning over me, crouched beside my bedroll.

"It's your turn," she says, nothing much more than a whisper.

Lifting a hand to my head and pushing back hair from my face I do my best to nod, finding it difficult to shake free of the grasp of sleep.

"Any problems?" I ask, my voice thick and a little raspy.

She watches as I sit up, staying close to me though she stands so I have space to move.

"None, it's been quiet," she replies. "Apart from Zedd's snoring of course."

"Of course," I say with a knowing smile.

I slept in my clothes so I wouldn't have to stumble around getting dressed in the middle of the night. I'm grateful for that choice as I notice that Cara is doing her best not to watch me as I rise from my bedroll. She's not very good at subtle and I find myself blushing as I think about how she might have reacted if I'd only been wearing my underwear. Thinking about being in my underwear in front of Cara does nothing to help sway my thoughts away from where they constantly keep travelling. It distracts me to the point I trip over my blanket and find myself tumbling into Cara's arms.

She's quick to catch me, her hands firm on my hips; my own hands land on her upper body. One of them decides that the best way to keep myself upright is to grasp on to Cara's breast – soft, warm, suddenly filling my palm. I almost shriek as I quickly step backwards and away.

"I'm sorry," I blurt, feeling my cheeks redden intensely as her hands drop from me, leather covered fingers practically leaving scorch marks behind.

My palm is tingling where it had connected with her and I feel utterly mortified, but Cara is just smirking at me; looking at me as if I'm the most curious thing she's ever seen.

"I didn't mean to . . ." I begin, running a hand through my hair and avoiding eye contact.

"It's ok," she says, a soft chuckle tainting her words. "Though just so you're aware . . . if you wish to touch me you only have to ask."

My eyes flick back to hers and I see the wide grin on her lips, mocking me, teasing me. I blush further and feel completely inadequate in her presence, foolish and inexperienced. I want to be able to say something witty back to her, something that will let her know I'm not as naïve as she might think I am, but I can find no words, and I have to conclude that I am indeed naïve in this instance, in this situation. Cara is a sexual person, unafraid, revelling in her sexuality as all Mord-Sith do. But I've been taut to repress my sexuality; it resides behind walls I've spent years building. We're not the same and I feel embarrassed about my own awkwardness.

"I didn't want to . . ." I stutter. "I just . . ."

"Relax, Kahlan," Cara tells me in a hushed tone so she doesn't wake the others. "And don't forget to wake Richard in a candle mark," she adds as she turns to find her bedroll.

"A candle mark?" I question. Surely it should be longer.

"Yes," Cara says without elaboration, looking over her shoulder at me as she shakes out her bedroll.

I open my mouth to ask further questions but I notice that she's placing her bed much closer to mine than necessary and I can't speak. Is she doing that on purpose? I ask myself. Is she trying to drive me completely insane?

Before I can stop her or find some way to discourage her from sleeping so close to my bedroll she pauses and looks at me, her green eyes piercing me in a way that always makes me shudder.

"I left you to sleep longer," she says, obviously mistaking my wide eyes for something other than dismay at her sleeping arrangements. "Mord-Sith do not need as much rest."

She turns back to placing her blanket, sitting down on it and tugging at the laces on her leathers. I keep my eyes on her for a moment, wondering if I should thank her, watching as she slowly undresses. It's only when she starts pushing the leather off her shoulders that I finally look away.

I want to watch. I desperately want to watch but I know I can't. I doubt Cara would care for me openly staring at her as she removed her clothes, even though she likes to tease me sometimes; flaunting her sexuality as if to mock me. I can't risk making more of a fool of myself or making her distrust me. As far as I know she doesn't think of me in the same way I now think of her and I won't be the kind of person to make another uncomfortable in that way. She doesn't have to know about the few times I've surreptitiously admired her as she's bathed of course, I'll keep that to myself, clinging to the memories of watching her disappear into the water. Watching her wade into it until I can no longer see the soft skin of her back or the firm curve of her rear.

I'd never considered myself to be sneaky before, but I've found myself following a couple of times now as she's gone to wash, just to get a glimpse if nothing else. I never stay for long; always pulling away and leaving her alone when I began to feel guilty. I've never stayed to watch her leave the water so I can see the view from the front. That would leave me feeling even more guilty, and even more frustrated at the fact I can't possess that strong body in ways that I now want to.

I sit down on the log by the fire, staring into the flames as Cara shuffles around, removing her leather and her boots. I know she'll probably slip under the blankets naked – as is her way – and it makes me tremble. Looking down at my palm I fight the urge to recall the feel of her breast against it; so soft, so perfect in my hand. I want so much more and I know I can't have it.

"Don't stay awake too long," Cara says quietly from her bed, her hand propping up her head as she faces me, eyes studying me.

Blonde hair trickles down across Cara's bare shoulder and I forget myself for a moment, licking my lips as I let my gaze wander to where the blanket only just covers her chest.

"I won't," I reply, barely a whisper as I attempt to hide the effect she has on me.

She gives me a brief, utterly precious smile and I can't help but smile back, my stomach twisting, fluttering in a way that has me turned inside out. Cara doesn't smile like that often. In fact I've only recently seen her do it, and she seems only to do it for me, but every time . . . a little piece of me sighs and gives in to what I'm beginning to understand. What I'm beginning to feel.

From my vantage point above her, with her head closer to me than her feet, I watch her turn on to her back and get comfortable. She's far enough away that I can't see her completely now she's on her back, and though the rustle of her blanket is audible it's hard to hear over the spitting flames in front of me. I almost want to move closer, maybe pull my own bedroll near to the fire so I can sit on it as I keep watch of our camp, but that would only tempt me to lie down, to sleep close to her. I have to remain where I am, and banish these thoughts from my head.

She can't possibly think of me in the same way, and even if she did . . . I can't do anything about it. It would complicate everything. It would go against everything I stand for. It would be impossible.

I can't allow myself to feel these things.

TBC…


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Adult situations.

Chapter Two

As the stars shift slowly in the night sky my gaze travels over Zedd as he snores, Richard as he breathes slow and even, tucked under his blanket facing away from the fire, and then to the other side of the fire where Cara remains awake beside my own bedroll.

I know she's awake though she's spent the past half a candle mark trying to fall asleep, tossing and turning and sighing as she remains conscious. I haven't spoken or made any indication that I know she isn't sleeping, thinking it best just to let her be; I don't want to make it worse by talking to her. I'm sure she'll drop off soon, or at least by the time I go back to bed myself. The men never seem to have difficulty sleeping it seems, but I understand how Cara feels; I still find it difficult to find comfort on the ground.

Just as I finally think Cara has settled as the blanket stops moving and she remains still, I focus my eyes only to notice she's not quite as still as I'd thought. There's movement under her thick covering. Movement I've seen before.

For a moment I hold my breath, not daring to imagine she's about to do what I think she is. Surely she wouldn't. Not when she knows that I'm awake and might see.

But she is, and my fingers grip the edge of the log I'm sitting on, nails digging in to the wood as I will myself to look away. But I'd be fooling myself if I thought I could possibly turn my head and ignore where her hand is going, how her legs are moving, spreading open under her blanket. My lungs start to burn as I try not to breathe too loud, as I do my best not to care that she's about to touch herself with me sat right here no more than a few paces away.

This is so unfair of her, yet it's even more unfair of me to continue watching. Still, my eyes remain fixed on her, noticing as her fingers finally reach the place between her thighs and she takes a deeper breath. One of her legs raise up a little way, bent at the knee, and she spreads them open further, obviously paying no heed to my presence so close.

I can feel myself reacting already; needing more oxygen, stomach tightening, body warming and growing damp between my own legs. I sneak my tongue out over my suddenly dry lips, staring at the hands moving beneath the course wool covering Cara. She has a hand palming her breast as the one between her legs moves up and down slowly, achingly slowly.

Almost as if she's touching me and not herself my own sex twitches with need, making me curse myself for falling so easily under this spell once again. She turns me into a quivering mess so quickly and it's not even me she's pleasuring. I can't quite understand how or why, but it's just Cara I suppose. The way she is, the way I want her.

Biting on my lower lip I hear the first moan drift quietly up from Cara and my skin prickles. She's getting breathless already and I know it won't be long until her hand quickens and her sounds reach my ears more frequently. Taking a moment to flick my gaze towards Richard and Zedd I thank the Spirits that they're still very much asleep. When I turn back I see that the blanket covering Cara has shifted a little lower, only just covering her breasts now as she gives in to her pleasure, seemingly oblivious to the fact I might be watching her.

A shuddering sigh assaults my ears and I almost sigh in kind, squeezing my thighs together in the hope I can get through this without doing something stupid or risky. Cara would never let me hear the end of it if she discovered that I'd seen her and enjoyed it. It would make travelling with her extremely awkward, and Creator only knows how Richard would react if she were to tell him. It's better pretending not to notice that Cara is now on the brink of orgasm, rather than have her realise I'm fully aware of her actions and fully aroused by them.

She's too far away for me to hear the wet slide of her fingers, but I can imagine it. I can imagine the sound, the sensation, the way it might look; fingers glistening, caressing everywhere she needs them. Swallowing hard my body begs to reach for the heights she's swiftly taking herself to and I almost fall off the log I'm perched precariously on when the hand at her breast moves down to join the other between her legs. Closing my eyes I attempt to take steady breaths, nostrils flaring and hands grasping the wood beneath me, every inch of me tuned to Cara at this moment.

I know she's lost to her pleasure and I feel awful for not turning away and leaving her to her privacy, but I can't move. I can no more move than I can pull the stars from the sky and string them around my neck; she has me captivated and I have to wonder if she's aware of that or not. Her head tips back, her profile highlighted by the flickering of the fire. Such a striking woman she is, and I know now I've never felt this attracted to anybody before in my life. I used to think Richard was perfect, but once Cara came along and I was finally able to see past my anger and distrust I realised there was something about her that I couldn't ignore. Something even Richard didn't posses.

She may not be perfect, she may be flawed and so opposite to me it's almost ridiculous, but she's turned my head completely. I want to know every inch of her.

Another soft moan drifts up from Cara and I know she's close; I can tell from her breathing and the way her body is tightening. I see the tip of her tongue glide over her lips and there's an aching pulse between my thighs that demands attention, though I know I can't do anything to relieve myself here. That doesn't stop my body longing, growing wetter where I need to be touched; swollen with need, desperate for something, for fingers to find my release, to fill me the way I know Cara is filling herself now.

I barely bite down on a moan of my own as Cara takes a quivering breath and finally comes, her head back, lips parted, the jerking of her hips obvious in the light of the fire. I tremble with her, almost on the brink of release myself just watching her. Cara's lips move as she shudders through her release and for a moment I swear I hear my name; my name falling quietly from her mouth as she reaches climax.

The gasp escapes me before I can stop it and I lose my balance on the small log I've been clinging to. With a huff and clatter I topple onto the discarded dinner plates by the fire and it's no surprise that Richard wakes instantly, twisting in his blanket to see what's wrong, to check for danger.

"What happened?" he asks, rubbing at his eyes.

"I slipped," I respond, my voice tight and my cheeks blazing red as I attempt to right myself.

"Are you ok?" Richard questions further, his brown eyes tender with concern.

I don't look over at Cara but she's said nothing so far and made no indication that she's about to embarrass me further. Rearranging myself back onto the log, I dust off my knees and keep my gaze firmly glued to the fire.

"I'm fine, just tired I think," I say, my heart still pounding from both what Cara had just been doing and my own clumsiness.

At the back of my mind I keep hearing how Cara uttered my name as she came. I couldn't possibly have made it up or imagined it, but I'm confused and concerned and I have no idea what it might mean. She could have been mocking me because she'd realised I was watching her, or it could have just been something that slipped out accidentally. I have no way of knowing for sure.

"Go back to bed, Kahlan," Richard suggests softly, untangling himself from his blanket. "I'll keep watch now."

I open my mouth to tell him there's no need, but he's already up and sitting beside me, carefully trying to unrumple his shirt and straighten his mussed hair. It would probably be a better idea to stay sat by him for a while if he insists on staying awake, so I can avoid being close to Cara for as long as possible, but as I finally allow my gaze to wander over to Cara's bedroll I notice that she's tucked under her blanket once again. She has settled herself down to sleep, her back to the fire.

"If you're sure," I say to Richard, smiling kindly at him.

Though I hadn't felt particularly tired before, I do now. I also doubt I'd be very reliable watching over camp tonight anyway as I'm too distracted, too caught up in my own thoughts. I know I shouldn't take advantage of Richard's kind nature but the desire to lie down and let sleep dull my confusion is too strong to deny. Plus, a small part of me actually wants to be close to Cara, to bask in her warmth and take in her scent as much as I can, even though it'll be like a form of torture even she'd be proud of me for enduring.

Pulled in two directions by my own mind, the need to gravitate towards Cara wins out and I thank Richard, patting his arm affectionately before rising and making my way over to my bedroll. Cara is much closer to where I'd been sleeping than I could previously tell from over by the fire but I don't pull my things away, as much as I know I should after initially making a point of putting my bedroll a small distance away from the others. Seeing that her eyes are closed, though she's facing where I'll be laying, I pull off my loosely laced boots and strip down to my corset once I'm covered by my blanket.

My shuffling doesn't seem to disturb her and once again all I can think about is hearing my name; a moan as she touched herself. My stomach flutters at the memory but I blush again, stifled by my own fear and worry. I don't know if she even noticed that it affected me, or that I heard at all. It seems like she's falling asleep now without so much as a thought to how I might be feeling or what I might be thinking so I can only assumes she doesn't realise I heard. Or maybe she just doesn't care.

For a moment I feel angry at Cara, but then I turn to face her as we lay side by side and I'm instantly caught in her gaze as she watches me sleepily, her eyes hooded as she regards me from her pillow.

I can't pull my eyes away from hers and I see more of her than I ever have. I see her strength and her courage, but mostly I see a vulnerability that surprises me. Cara's lips quirk up into a quick smile but before I can smile back or frown in my confusion she closes her eyes once again and I'm left gazing at her relaxed face with a thousand questions I know I can't ask.

She's turning me inside out and I don't even know if she knows it.

By morning I'm still reeling from what happened that night, watching Cara as she makes her way around camp packing things away as Richard prepares the horses and Zedd arranges a small breakfast. I haven't spoken more than a few words to anybody and I know Richard is worried about me; he keeps glancing my way, giving me a look that resembles a small wounded puppy. I feel bad for not speaking with him but right now I don't know what to say. I don't know how to get past all the things in my head or the heavy thud of my heart as I contemplate what's happening to me.

I find myself glancing from Richard to Cara and back again, baffled at the way I've changed, the way I see them both now – so different to just a month ago. There's no doubt Richard is very dear to me but Cara . . . she makes something inside me bubble and burn and yearn to be close to her. Sometimes I see a sadness to her eyes that makes my chest ache in a way that's familiar yet completely alien to me. I can't explain how I feel, I just know that I do.

For her I'm feeling everything, all at once and in a rush that has tugged me along in its tumbling current. As much as I might want to cling to something solid to keep me steady – to Richard – I know it's useless to fight. Useless but completely necessary.

I _will_ fight. I can't allow myself to fall in love with this woman.

"Richard," I say softly, moving up beside him near the horses. "Can I speak with you?"

He frowns a little at first but then nods his head, his brown eyes letting me in to see every part of him.

I stop us by a large tree not too far from our camp but far enough that prying eyes or eager ears won't participate in what I have to say. Richard smiles at me, his hair beginning to tumble into his eyes as he waits patiently for me to explain myself. Raising my hand to his cheek I give him a smile I hope is genuine, full of promise and love.

"I just wanted to apologise for . . . for my bad mood lately," I tell him, beginning to feel that ache in my chest that I must ignore. "I was feeling a little out of sorts."

"It's ok," he tells me, full of adoration and forgiveness. "There's no need to . . ."

"There is," I insist, knowing I'm apologising for much more than just my temperament.

I seal my fate by placing a tender kiss on his lips. I don't linger as long as I would have in the past but the smile on Richard's face is wider now, more certain of my love for him.

His hands cup my face and for a moment I feel a little trapped, but I know he's done this countless times before and I've only ever responded willingly so I don't move away. Richard kisses me this time, moving against my mouth in a way that insists on more than I want to give, but I try. I try for him.

We're interrupted by the snapping of a twig and we both turn quickly to see Cara as she stands no more than a few paces away. Instantly I see the sadness to her eyes that pricks at my chest but before I can dwell on it her face has changed, hardened. There's a smirk teasing at her lips and I know - somehow I know – she's trying to hide behind it.

"I'm on my way to fill the water bottles," she explains, voice almost cutting in its sharpness. "Once you're done canoodling like teenagers we should make our way back to the road."

My gaze falls to the ground and I feel a sudden horror that she'd seen Richard and I kissing. I know she's seen it before, plenty of times, but right now it feels wrong that she saw us, and wrong that I can't tell her it didn't mean what she might think it means.

There's an acidic taste at the back of my throat and I step away from Richard more abruptly than I could possibly explain, so I don't, I just give them both another quick glance before nodding to Cara and making my way back to camp. I can't speak for fear I'd say something that might give either one of them cause for concern, so I keep my thoughts to myself. I already know Richard must be a little perplexed, and no doubt Cara took a moment to roll her eyes before heading to the stream nearby, but it's best if I avoid being in situations that involve them both, that involves the harsh prick of my guilt and my shame.

When Richard returns he's once again looking at me like a wounded puppy and I know I'll have to take time later to set his mind at ease, maybe allow him to hold me the way he likes when we take a walk alone. Let him kiss me and believe that nothing is as strong as the love we share.

I used to think that was true, but now I know love can be fleeting. Maybe what I felt for Richard was no more than wonder, the excitement of something new, something that was mine. Finally I had my seeker and he loved me, wanted me. It lifted me and kept me on its wings for the longest time, but my feet are back on the ground now and I'm no longer waiting for his every glance. I wait for Cara's.

Once we get moving, leading the horses to the road before mounting them and making our way as the compass instructs, the mood of our party lifts. Zedd is chattering away, trying to get Cara to join in with his conversation with Richard, and though Cara is obviously reluctant she doesn't cut them short with a sharp remark or a barely concealed yawn as is usual. I watch from behind as I follow them slowly on my horse. Richard will have a sore neck by nightfall with all the twisting he's doing trying to catch my eye as he looks back to me from his tall steed. Cara has only glanced back once, her eyes finding mine without difficulty; the set of her jaw giving nothing away, the green of her eyes making me shudder.

I don't look away from her as I have been doing with Richard as subtly as possible, but her gaze doesn't linger too long. She turns back to face the front of her horse and digs her heels into his side to send him a little ahead of both Zedd and Richard. I guess she's done with their conversation, and though I know it's wrong of me I feel the further distance more than I should. I feel suddenly colder, more sullen; bereft as I realise I won't be able to keep my eyes on her as easily as I have been doing over the past few hours.

Instantly I miss the flow of her blonde hair over her shoulder and the slight roll of her hips as she moves with her mount. Watching her so closely had only confirmed what I knew I was feeling and I had been finding it difficult to look away, so maybe it's a good thing that Zedd and Richard are now obscuring my view. At least now I can think without the distraction of her alluring back and that soft, silken hair that I just know would feel wonderful brushing against my skin.

But thinking doesn't seem to help, only plunge me deeper into my own despair. There are so many reasons for me not be close to Cara; her being Mord-Sith a major one. As a Confessor I shouldn't even be daring to think I could be with her as even just a friend; we're opposites in everything we are, in everything we do. She was made to hate Confessors, to hate me. I was trained to fear her, to protect myself and others from her and her kind.

Neither of us hate each other, however, and we no longer look at each other with the limits of what we are. At least, I don't look at her that way, I can't be sure if she still harbours those longstanding judgments. I think she trusts me, as I trust her now. We haven't really talked about it.

"We'll stop for lunch soon," Richard says, much closer to me than I'd thought he was.

He must have slowed his horse so I would catch up with him. His eyes are on me, a hesitant smile making him look even younger than he is.

"There's a small town ahead I think," he continues, mostly speaking to me it seems, though Zedd is listening too. Cara is too far ahead now to be included in the conversation. "We can stop there and get some supplies."

I nod and offer him a smile. There's worry in his eyes, on his face, and he's doing his best not to show it, but a Confessor knows and I can see right through him. I'm suddenly glad he doesn't have that ability, but how am I supposed to convince him that I still want to be with him when I can't even convince myself?

This thing has been tugging at me for weeks now and no matter how much I bat it away it comes back stronger. I don't know if it's right for me to do my best to be faithful to him and his love, or if it would be better to gently let him know that we aren't going to be what he so hopes we will be. I'm aware it would be kinder not to keep up a ruse and to tell him I no longer love him the way I did or the way he deserves, but he'd want to know why and I don't think I'm ready to admit to why. It would hurt him and confuse him and right now we need to focus on our quest, not on my disorderly feelings.

As we round the bend the town comes into view, set behind its walls at the bottom of the hill we're meandering down. It's small but I can already see one street dedicated to traders, stalls, small shops selling their wares. We were running low on quite a few things so this stop is a good idea, and a nice meal sat on a comfy chair might help just a little to alleviate my introspective mood. Hurrying my horse a bit faster I give Richard a genuine smile this time and tell him it was a good idea. He beams at me, sitting a fraction taller in his saddle.

I notice Cara waiting for us up ahead and I smile wider without thinking, catching her eyes with mine and holding them longer than necessary. She doesn't turn away but when she does her gaze lands on Richard as he rides beside me, a little squint to her eyes making me wonder what she just thought, or felt. It almost looks like she's biting her tongue but then once again she turns from us and continues down the road.

"We're stopping at the town, Cara," Richard shouts.

Cara lifts a hand to show she heard him and takes the road to the left as it splits, heading towards the town gates. Once again I'm watching her, regarding the tension in her back and the way she holds her horse steady as two guards come out to greet us.

Their eyes are wide, a mix of fear, distrust and agitation making them jittery and quick to grab for their weapons.

"Halt!" The larger of the two calls. "We don't allow your kind here."

He's clearly speaking to Cara though Cara hardly acknowledges his existence, gently patting her horse's neck and appearing bored already of his protestations.

"She's with us," I say before Richard has the chance.

I ease my horse next to Cara's and look down on the guards with an air of authority I'd been taught many years ago.

"I apologise, Mother Confessor," the large guard says, bowing his head in deference, "but we can't let _her_ in. It's the law of this town."

He looks to have a bad taste in his mouth and I feel a surge of anger. If only he knew what we know about this woman, about Cara. She may be Mord-Sith but I've seen good in her. I know that it's inside and she proves it every time she not only places herself in danger for Richard but for both Zedd and I. She may have been a tool, a weapon for Darken Rahl, but her actions aren't those of a monster. Not anymore.

I'm about to plead her case and tell this over-sized brute exactly what I think of his insistence that she doesn't enter, but Cara tugs on the reins of her horse and turns him around so she's looking over her shoulder at the guards, a slight sneer hardening her face.

"I'd rather stay outside anyway," she says gruffly. "There's a strange aroma coming from your town. In fact it smells a little like pig . . ."

"Cara!" I admonish as subtly as I can. "I'm sure if we ask nicely these fine gentlemen might . . ."

"Don't bother," Cara interrupts, glaring at me. "I don't need to see their town that badly. I'll wait on the rise up ahead."

Before I can stop her she's already moving away from us, her horse traipsing back up the road towards a small grassy hill overlooking the town.

I turn to Richard, giving him a look that clearly indicates I'd like him to go and change Cara's mind, but he just shrugs at me as if he's incapable of such a thing. He probably is, but it would have been nice of him to try. With a sigh I shake my head, glowering at the guards in a silent promise to make them pay for this transgression. I could of course order them to allow us all through their gates, but Cara is already quite a way up the hill and I really have no intention of starting a fight or causing problems that will only slow us down.

The hope of a meal and a soft chair slips through my grasp and I turn my own horse around.

"You two go in and get our supplies, I'll catch up with Cara," I say, leaving no room for argument even though I see the bemused look on Richard's face. "And make sure you bring some food for us when you leave."

My stomach growls and I do my best to hide the slight blush I know is probably reddening my cheeks.

"No, wait, Kahlan," Richard implores before I get far. "You go in with Zedd, I'll stay with Cara."

For a moment I almost tell him that that's a better idea – a large part of me worried about spending time alone with Cara. But I shake my head and give him a reassuring smile – the other part of me actually wanting to spend time alone with Cara, no matter how brief.

"No, go ahead," I tell him. "You have most of the packs on your horse anyway. It's easier this way."

I hope my slight excuse works and it seems as though it has as he nods in acceptance, though he seems rather forlorn now.

"Be careful," he says, his eyebrows knitting together almost comically.

"We'll be fine, Richard," I say. "Now go on before all the stalls close for the day."

Taking pity on him I give him a smile that brightens his eyes before I flick on my reins and head the way Cara went. He really is a sweet man, but the woman ahead already has my gaze trained to her rear as she ascends the small hill with its tumble of rocks and scattering of trees. She may not be sweet and gentle like Richard but my stomach flutters as I watch her, and my heart drums in my chest, warning me that I'm not as in control of what it feels as I want to be.

Suddenly, I regret my decision to be alone with her.

TBC…


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Lowering myself from my horse and tethering it next to Cara's at the tall tree beside the lush grass she's decided to take a seat on, I turn and look down at the town she was denied entry to. I can see from this angle that it's a little larger than I first thought, and there's quite an impressive villa close to the gates. They might be rather rude but it's obvious the town doesn't lack for wealth.

"It's probably a trading town," Cara says, as if reading my mind. "A lot of trading towns seem to have their own rules these days – to keep out those that might be a threat to them, and to their wealth."

"I doubt they thought that you'd steal their takings," I say, taking a seat close to Cara, though keeping a sensible distance away. "They're just . . ."

"Protecting themselves," she says rightly. "Mord-Sith don't exactly have the best reputation, especially around these parts."

"A lot of children were taken from here?" I ask, glancing at Cara but refusing to allow my gaze to linger.

"There are two temples within a days walking distance of here," she says. "I don't doubt this town paid a heavy price for that."

I nod, unable to really say anything. I could sigh in disgust but she already knows how I feel about the Mord-Sith so it's unnecessary. I could tell her that I know she's not a threat in that way anymore, but she would mistake my intentions for something else; she would grow defensive and try to remind me that she'd taken girls herself. That she'd been part of the evil that I detest.

Every word she'd say would be true of course, and I'd find some way to try to understand, and to dismiss the possibility that she was as horrendous as most of her Sisters. We've been down that road and it has only ever led to an argument and Cara walking away.

The truth is, I don't really understand, and she can't comprehend why I'm able to be anywhere near her after everything she's done. After what she did on Valeria. But I'm a Confessor, and I saw her regret; I saw what was beneath the layers of torture, of breaking, of pain, of everything Rahl had ever made her do. I saw something inside her that made me question everything, and she's still making me ask those questions. She's still making me look deeper, want more.

"I hope they bring lunch," I say after a few minutes, changing the subject.

"You're hungry?" Cara asks, turning her head to me as I rest back on my hands and enjoy the warmth of the sun.

"Yes," I answer with a nod, trying not to feel the weight of her gaze as she continues to look at me.

When she turns to rummage in her backpack I let out a deep breath of relief; having her eyes on me these days is a trial in restraint. It's all I can do not to stare back at her and just let myself fall, so I try not to look. Try not to care that she makes me feel exposed, helpless against the way just one glance from her can cause my heart to start racing.

"Here," she says as she pulls something out of her pack, handing it to me. "I was saving this but . . ."

Looking down at Cara's hand and the shiny green apple held within it, I notice that she's shuffled a little closer so she wouldn't have to reach so far to offer it to me. Both the closeness and the sweet gesture make me nervous all of a sudden and I fail to say anything as I stare at her offering.

"Kahlan," she nudges, almost shyly, "this should see you through to lunch."

She jerks her hand closer; I blink and nod, taking the apple.

"Thank you," I say, allowing one quick look into her eyes.

It was a mistake. Her eyes appear impossibly green in this light and I can't look away - recalling last night. Recalling the way her lips parted as she came, spilling my name from them. Clumsily I drop the apple and it begins to roll down the hill, and before I can rouse myself from my thoughts quickly enough to run and retrieve it I watch, stunned, as Cara races after the errant fruit herself.

Quick, fluid movements ensure that she catches up with the apple before it goes too far, and with a lightning fast snatch she has it in her hand again, looking rather smug as she spins around to head back my way. I can't take my eyes off her, watching her body move in the bright sunshine, the breeze catching her hair and throwing it over her shoulder. I find my gaze dropping to the break in leather at her chest, noticing the slight glisten of perspiration as she gets closer. She bends in front of me to hand me the apple once again, as if aware that I can't stop looking. The leather opens further, revealing more of her cleavage. She doesn't rush to stand straight again but eventually I pull my gaze upwards, to Cara's face, where I see the slight crinkle of a smirk.

Cara knows. She knows what I was staring at; I can see it in the depths of her that no longer hide from me.

"I'm sorry," I stutter.

Finally standing tall again, Cara gives me a puzzled look, as if waiting for me to elaborate, but I'm not really sure what I'm apologising for; for staring, for wanting, or for dropping the apple. I choose the safer option.

"Sorry for dropping it," I clarify, the lie making her cock her head before she takes a seat beside me again.

Taking a big bite of the apple, I push down the sudden flush of desire that staring straight down her top brought about and pretend as if nothing had happened. I'm sure she's quite used to people looking at her in such a way so I don't doubt that my less than subtle ogling would have been obvious, I just hope she doesn't choose to use it against me in some way. I don't truly believe she'd do that, but there's a lot at stake so I can't help but worry. Hopefully saying nothing about it will ensure no issue is made.

"It's a beautiful day," I say calmly, glancing around us as the warm sun reflects off the flourishing grasses and flowers.

"As opposed to the previous four days that have been the same?" she retorts sarcastically.

I swallow another bite of the apple. The last few days have indeed been quite glorious; every day hotter than the last, though today there has been a breeze to temper the heat.

"They were beautiful days also," I say, smiling over at Cara, trying not to allow her to ruin my attempts at normal conversation.

"It's too warm," Cara responds, resting her elbows on her knees. "Far from beautiful."

The leather she wears is probably reason enough for her to dislike the heat, but I haven't heard her complain until now. I almost ask her if she would prefer to wear something lighter, and therefore cooler, but I know the look she'd give me, and as much as I sometimes like to see the mischievous roll of her eyes I don't intend to cause a discussion right now. She wouldn't want to wear anything other than her leathers; it goes without saying.

"Maybe we'll come across a stream later," I begin. "That would help cool us down."

"I doubt that," Cara says almost too quickly.

I catch her eye and have difficulty recognising the look that crosses her face. Wondering if I should question her, I finish off the apple and throw the remains into the bushes for the enjoyment of whatever creatures that may linger within. My brain is telling me to drop the subject yet again, but for some reason I ignore the warning. I push a little more than I should.

"Why wouldn't it cool you down?" I ask warily, watching as she pulls her gaze from me to look out over the horizon. There's a tension in her jaw that makes me cautious of her answer, but it's too late, the words are already out.

"The water might cool my skin but . . ."

"But?" I press when she pauses, feeling myself leaning towards Cara, gaze straying back to that enticing opening to her leather.

"It's better I don't say," she answers, leaving no room for argument with her tone.

When she turns my way I know I've been caught once again, looking where I have no business looking. Quickly focusing my eyes elsewhere, on a small patch of flowers some way below us, I do my best to ignore her questioning gaze and the possible things she could say next.

I really should have taken Richard's offer and gone into the town, allowing him to stay with Cara. Being alone with her in this way, so soon after what I witnessed and heard last night, was just asking for trouble. I wanted to avoid this awkwardness, this slippery slope that would only lead us into something complicated. Our friendship, if you could even call it that, is too new to be tested like this. If she realises I'm attracted to her, and if I discover she might have similar ideas about me, then things would become very uncomfortable because we can't hope to act on any such fancies.

Hoping the Spirits are looking over me and helping me I hold myself sure and steady, the mask of a Confessor slipping across my face so I can avoid Cara's deductions or her possible dismay. I tell myself I mustn't look at her that way again, ever. I have to be strong and do my duty, to be everything I should be, especially to Richard - my Seeker.

"Kahlan," Cara says, my name on her lips making me force a tremble down. "Kahlan, look at me."

I refuse to. Unable to.

Cara sighs. It's an angry sigh and I sense her getting to her feet, brushing grass from her behind before she stalks over to the horses. Out of the corner of my eye I can see that she has pulled a waterskin from her horse to take a drink, glugging some down as if she hasn't drank for a week. The very same waterskin plops beside me as she approaches again, her body blocking the sun as she stands in front of me.

"When you look at me in that way," Cara begins, and I know exactly in what 'way' she means, "it confuses me. It also . . ." She sighs again, beginning to pace, creating a small path left to right in front of me. "I'm here because of Richard, but you're making it difficult for me to serve him."

Risking a quick glance at her I see a deep frown on her forehead, and also notice that one hand is resting on the handle of an agiel at her hip. I wonder if I should speak, persuade her that I haven't looked at her in any way that should cause alarm, convince her that she's mistaken, but my lips remain tight and I allow her to continue.

"I don't intend to betray him but you're making it almost impossible for me to remain completely loyal," she tells me, almost as if she's chastising me.

I finally find my voice, unhappy that she's sounding so accusing, that she thinks I'm doing something on purpose to disrupt her desire to follow Richard - her Lord Rahl.

"I'm not _doing_ anything," I insist. "Your loyalty is your business."

"But you are . . . doing something," she counters, her hands on her hips as she stands once again in front of me.

Beginning to grow agitated and annoyed that she's possibly found me out and is about to make me feel very, very silly, I get to my feet so I can meet her face to face. I'm the Mother Confessor, and she's nothing more than a Mord-Sith – she doesn't get to stand in judgment of me.

"You're the one that's 'doing something', Cara," I accuse, my voice tainted with the agitation I'm feeling. "I've had to listen to it nearly every night for the past month."

The words are out before I can stop them but she doesn't look surprised, just curious. My own eyes are wide and I know I must be blushing, feeling utterly embarrassed.

"You've been listening to me?" she asks, obviously understanding what I was referring to.

There's a note of humour in her voice that puts me even more on edge. I don't want her to mock me or use this against me in any way. I don't want this to ruin the tentative friendship we were developing.

"Not intentionally," I claim, my cheeks still blazing.

I look away from her, unable to stand the way her eyes are searching mine, looking for the truths that I don't want to give her.

After an awkward pause she asks, "Why didn't you request for me to stop?"

My thoughts are racing and I don't know how to answer, don't know what would move us past this without her discovering how I feel about her. I could tell her I'm done with the conversation and move away, as she's often done to me, but that would only leave things hanging, open for interpretation.

"I didn't want to impose," I say, knowing she wouldn't believe a word.

"You could have told me I was being overheard," Cara states, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at me suspiciously. "I would have been more discrete."

I can't very well tell her that I didn't want her to start being discrete; that I was happy to hear her, even though it caused such confusion and frustration.

"I was trying to be considerate," I say, grasping at straws in the hope she might allow this to pass.

"But it bothered you," Cara supposes.

It _had_ once bothered me, but now it just makes me desire her more than I can ignore. I'm not sure how to respond without lying outright, and I don't want to do that. Lying isn't something that comes easy to Confessors. I already feel bad enough hiding truths from Richard as I attempt to understand myself.

"It didn't bother me exactly," I say, sounding strained as I look down at my feet without realising, avoiding Cara's eyes.

"Then you continued to listen because you . . . enjoyed it?" Cara guesses, a seductive quality to her voice that is probably entirely unintentional.

Feeling her moving closer I fight the urge to back away and run. We should talk about this; it's been making me jittery for weeks now and the best way to get it out of the way, to move on from wanting Cara, is to face it. We can deal with it, then finally put it aside so I can reclaim my own feelings and give Richard all of my attention.

"Did you listen last night?" Cara continues when I don't answer her. "Did you watch?"

Her voice is low, rough, curling its way around me and begging for me to give in to what I feel. I turn from Cara, showing her my back. I can't look her in the eyes right now.

"You weren't exactly being subtle," I reply, the memory of watching Cara make herself come causing me to grow wet. She causes that so easily these days. "I didn't mean to watch."

There's a revealing quiver to my voice that I know will not go unnoticed. I still can't face her but she's even closer now; I can smell her heat beneath that tight, red uniform. I can smell the lavender on her skin and the leather that encases it. My eyes close as I attempt to remain in control of my senses. It would be too easy to turn and find her lips with mine, my fingers in her hair, my body against hers. But there's no way to be certain how she'd react, and I don't want to be on the receiving end of an angry agiel as Cara rightly fends me off.

"But you did . . . watch," Cara says slowly.

Though she sounds confident, as usual, there's a slight difference to the way she's speaking that makes me wonder and turn to face her. When my eyes meet her gaze I find my breath caught, trapped in my lungs; Cara, eyes dark and dangerous, looks on the verge of either violence or . . . or something I'm not sure I want to name. If I name it, then I have to accept that she might desire me the way I desire her, which would make this situation a lot more complex. If I name it, then I'm closer to it than I ought to be. Closer than is safe.

"Did you . . ." she begins before pausing, gaze flicking away from me for a moment before it returns and she wets her lips with her tongue. "Did you hear me when I came?"

I can't help the involuntary shudder that runs down my spine, that curls around my belly and spikes at my sex. I nod, unable to speak. Unable to acknowledge with words that I'd heard my name uttered when she reached climax.

Cara looks away again, a hand grasping the stinging handle of one of her agiels. She seems angry as her jaw tightens and she allows her hair to fall forward, covering her face a little as she searches for a way to deal with this on the ground at our feet.

Maybe she's ashamed that I heard, or that she allowed herself to reveal the slightest glimmer of what she might believe to be a weakness. I can't be sure, and I'm still not even certain why she said my name at such a time.

Her words, the thoughts of last night, the flicker of worry across Cara's brow all filter through my mind as I truly begin to think about the complications of this, and the implication that Cara might want the same as I do. I hadn't fully understood what Cara had implied when she said her loyalty to Richard was being tested by me, but now that I'm trying to calm my thoughts and order my feelings I'm able to acknowledge what she might have meant. Able to see a little clearer.

I think, possibly, we want the same things, and that just makes this so much more difficult. We can't have what we want.

Wishing I could reach out and push Cara's hair away from her face, reveal her to me, look into the eyes I've come to have such a weakness for, I step even closer. She lifts her head to look at me and I see a mix of defiance and shame on her face. I see what she truly means when she says she feels it is possible she may betray Richard.

"You shouldn't have heard that," Cara says before I can even attempt to speak. "I apologise for it, and I will be much more discrete in the future."

"You don't need to be," I tell her, surprising myself with the quickness of the words.

We both glance down to where my hand is now lightly grasping Cara's wrist. I don't immediately let go.

"I don't need to be sorry?" Cara questions. "Or I don't need to be more discrete?"

There are hidden questions here; we're both tiptoeing around the issue, around the obvious. I wish it were easier and that I could tell her that I've begun to regard her differently. That I want to know what it feels like to be naked in her arms, with her body releasing to my touch, to _my_ fingers instead of her own. But we don't have the luxury of ease.

"Either," I say. "Both."

My cheeks flush and I drop my hand back to my side, feeling suddenly exposed. Too close to the truth. A few seconds pass before I dare lift my gaze from where it had dropped, drowning in Cara's eyes as she boldly searches mine for understanding. She surely has to realise now that my interest in her has changed; I can almost hear the unspoken question - hear the words as she asks them. As she asks me if I want her.

I'm not ready to answer.

"We should stop talking about this," I warn, taking several steps away from Cara with a heavy heart.

A few seconds of silence descends and I feel it mocking me.

"If you think that's best, Mother Confessor," Cara responds finally, though I can sense that she would like to continue, to get to the root of the matter.

Putting more distance between us than entirely necessary I stoop to retrieve the waterskin from the ground, lifting it to my lips and quenching at least one of my thirsts. I can feel Cara's gaze fixed to me, still searching for meaning, heating my skin even more than the sun above us.

There's no need for me to confirm that I do think it's best; my silence speaks volumes.

A break in the tension comes thankfully swiftly as a small boy suddenly bounds towards us up the hill. He's out of breath and clutching a piece of parchment in his fist. Instantly, Cara is between me and the boy, agiels in hand as she stands defensively, a warning for him not to come any closer.

"Stop where you are," she shouts at him, pointing with a hissing agiel.

I wince as his eyes widen and his knees begin to knock; Cara is intimidating even for battle scarred warriors, let alone young village boys.

"Who are you?" I ask, stepping beside Cara and encouraging her to lower her weapons with a soft touch to her arm.

"My n-name's Marcus," he stutters, holding his scrap of parchment aloft. "The Seeker sent me with this."

He shuffles a little closer, his gaze never leaving Cara as I step towards him to take the parchment from his hand.

"Be careful," Cara warns, following close behind me, ready to protect me.

"He's just a small boy," I say, giving him a reassuring smile even as I try to ease Cara's worries.

I take the scrap from him, reading the words scribbled hastily upon it with a sigh.

"The Seeker told me you'd be up this hill," the boy explains. "And that he needs your help."

And that he does.

TBC...


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Handing the parchment to Cara for her to read I thank the boy that brought it and tell him we'll come right away with him.

"The Seeker's in trouble?" Cara asks even though she's just read the same words I did.

The boy shrugs his shoulders, obviously unaware of exactly what's happened.

"The note says the guards have detained both Richard and Zedd," I say, turning to Cara.

"I know what it says," she grumbles, rolling her eyes. "I can read."

I feel the sting of her words as if they'd lashed me like a whip; the atmosphere between us uncomfortable and awkward. Cara is not in any mood to be trifled with now and I ready myself for the inevitable confrontation we'll have. When she's in a bad mood it puts me on edge, and that always leads to an argument.

Taking the parchment from Cara, I glance over the words once more. They say nothing much more than that we're required in the town, and that the townsfolk are intolerable of more than just Mord-Sith. I wonder how we're supposed to enter if they insist that Cara stays outside, but the hastily scribbled words telling us both to come quickly makes me speculate that perhaps something has changed. I'm also curious as to why they would detain both Zedd and Richard. They had been allowed to pass freely through the gates, and surely no town would choose to anger or disrespect The Seeker.

"We need to go," I say, untying my horse from the tree.

"Wait," Cara stalls, her hand resting lightly on my shoulder for the briefest of moments.

I turn to look in her eyes and for a second or two neither of us speak, or move. The warmth from her gloved hand penetrates through several layers, heating not just my shoulder.

The boy sniffles, waiting patiently close by. I'd almost forgotten he was there at all; I get so easily lost in Cara's eyes these days.

"Are you going to tell Richard about . . . last night?" Cara finally asks, a hint of trepidation tainting her usual confidence.

"Of course not," I answer without hesitation.

Not only do I not want him to grow suspicious of Cara and her intentions towards me, I also do not wish to hurt him, or give him cause to question my own feelings on the matter. It's best that we keep this between us, even if we intend to bury it and never speak of it again.

Cara lowers her hand from me but doesn't move away. I sense that she wants to say something more, or ask something, but despite her slightly parted lips no words are forthcoming.

Distracted by those very lips - those very perfect lips that I now long to feel against my own – I fail to hear the boy clearing his throat until it sounds like he's about to cause himself permanent damage. Whipping my head to look at him I realise I must appear rather annoyed at the interruption as his eyes go wide and his cheeks flush red.

"Give us a moment, please," I say softly, trying to temper my agitation.

He nods his head and turns away without argument, but I hear him grumble something about strange ladies and scary leather.

"Cara, we can't tell Richard that . . ." I begin, but find myself at a loss.

We can't tell him what? That I want Cara and that she apparently feels the same? I'm not even certain that those two things are entirely true . . . though I have to admit that I'm much more sure now about my own desires at this point.

"No, Richard mustn't know," Cara continues for me when I fail to elaborate. "You are meant for the Lord Rahl and thinking of you in . . . in the way that I have is punishable by death."

Cara looks away from me as if admitting what she just has is excruciatingly painful. I guess for her it is; she's not only admitting that she's coveting her Lord's future wife, she's also admitting to a certain level of weakness for not being able to control how she feels.

I guess now I know for sure that last night wasn't just an anomaly; she really does desire me in the way I do her. This makes things much more perilous and complicated.

With a sigh I also look away, my gaze falling on the small boy, then on the town below us. Whatever we feel we have to push it aside, do our best to continue just as friends, especially right now when we're required to do our duty at Richard's side.

"Richard would never punish you that way," I say before turning back to my horse. "He's not Darken Rahl."

"Maybe not, but . . ."

"We say nothing," I interrupt, reassuring her, though the guilt rises in me to almost unmanageable proportions.

Tugging my horse closer I allow Cara to walk past me so she can untie her own. I do my best not to stretch my hand out to bring us together in an embrace that would be impossible to step out of.

"This . . . thing between us," I begin unsteadily. "If it's too strong for us to ignore then . . ."

"Then I will leave," Cara vows before I finish.

I shake my head and start to tell her that that's not what I would want, and not something I could probably even live with, but the small boy grows impatient and bounds towards me, reminding us loudly that Richard needs our help right now regardless of whatever we're both trying to deal with.

Giving Cara a troubled glance I mount my horse, pulling the small boy onto the saddle in front of me. Cara flicks her reins without another word and leads us back down the hill, her body swaying with her steed though her back is as straight as it possibly could be. She's on alert and I suddenly feel very glad that I won't be going into the town alone despite the awkwardness that has once again settled around us.

Once we reach the gates I push out my feelings and slip into the role of Mother Confessor as if it's armor, hardening myself enough to feel my station. To know that I should command respect no matter where I am. I dismount, helping the boy from my horse as the same guards from earlier approach.

"We were expecting you," one of them says. "Please follow us."

I look over at Cara, sporting a similar worried brow that denotes she's just as puzzled as I am. We say nothing to each other as we walk through the gates leading our horses. The small boy scampers off and I watch as people around stop what they're doing, all eyes on Cara. The sounds of a busy market trickle off and I become very aware that we should maybe have been more cautious; an ominous atmosphere descends and I move closer to Cara subconsciously. She doesn't move away.

The guards say nothing as they lead us towards the large villa I'd seen from the hill and Cara lightly touches my arm, surreptitiously pointing out two even bigger, beefier guards at the entrance. They don't make eye contact with us and as we come to a halt my heart begins to quicken in anticipation of what might happen next. I don't like this at all; something feels wrong.

As we stop outside the villa's large front door I turn to one of the gate guards and ask him what's going on.

"Where's The Seeker, and Zedd?" I ask further, but he ignores my question.

"I need to take the horses to the stable," he says gruffly, moving as if to grab the reins from both Cara and I.

"Don't come any closer," Cara advises, her voice low and dangerous.

Her hand flinches, heading towards her agiels, but he proceeds no further, obviously taking no chances.

"It would be prudent to comply," the guard insists, his nostrils flaring as he gives Cara a look of disgust.

"We'll do no such thing until we know what's going on," I interject, anger licking at the edges of my restraint. I really don't like the way he's looking at Cara.

"Fine, then you can wait here for the magistrate," the guard huffs, stepping away as the two guards at the entrance turn towards it and pull open the large double doors.

The wood creaks and cracks and Cara grips tighter to her reins, her eyes flick to me and I try not to appear quite as anxious as I feel but she must see that I'm uneasy.

"Should we flee?" she asks in a whisper only I can hear. "We could come back later, at night, to find Richard."

Pondering it momentarily I take a quick look around us. Most of the townsfolk are going about their business now but the gate we came through is closed and bolted. There are several armed guards up high on the wooden towers at either side and I have a feeling we would come up against resistance that even we couldn't handle. For now we have to follow their lead, though I don't have to be happy about it.

"No, let's see what happens first. Maybe this magistrate can tell us more," I tell Cara.

Her jaw is tight and eyes narrow as she controls her natural instinct not to obey people that have no business telling her what to do. If Cara does decide to make a move I pity the guard who's looking quite plainly down his nose at her as if she's something he brought in on his shoe; there's a fire burning behind her eyes.

Just as I'm about to query the guards further a lean man with a straggly beard hurries through the now open door to the villa, stopping just before us. His eyes are dark and beady and his robes engulf him as if they'd been tailored for a much larger man.

"Ah, the Confessor and the . . ." He looks at Cara, his lip curling as if the words would poison him to speak. "The Mord-Sith."

I step forward before Cara does, giving this weasel-like man a smile I doubt he deserves. Offering my hand in greeting, I hope keeping neutral and calm will ensure that whatever trouble Richard is in will allow for an easy solution.

"The Mother Confessor," I correct him. "And this is Car . . ."

"Yes, yes," he interrupts. "We know who you are, your wizard explained."

He doesn't take my hand, staring at it as if it were made of molten rock and would sear his very soul. Instantly I decide that this man does not like Confessor magic, and as I look into his eyes I clearly see that he's trying to conceal that fact, but it's not easy to hide from a Confessor's gaze.

"Where's Richard?" Cara asks bluntly, moving up beside me to make her presence felt.

"I'm Albert Thorne, the magistrate of this town and the region around it, and I can tell you . . . he's in rather a pickle," he says almost jovially, pulling at his wiry beard with scrawny fingers.

"A pickle?" Cara prompts, rising her eyebrows.

"Indeed," the magistrate confirms. "Maybe if you come inside we can talk more freely. Guard?" he calls, "take the horses to the stable and see that they're well looked after."

The guard who'd previously tried to take them steps forward once again, a smug expression making Cara practically snarl at him. She holds her horse firm beside her, almost daring him to take it. I try not to smirk as his smugness falters, but I can't stop my lips curling just a little as Cara's intimidating stance makes a man three times her size question his ability and prowess. I've seen fiercer men practically fall at her feet before an agiel even connects with skin.

"They're not cooperating," the guard grunts to the magistrate, virtually pouting.

"The horses and your belongings will be perfectly safe," Albert coos. "And we need to discuss the unfortunate incarceration of your wizard and The Seeker."

I can sense that Cara would rather chew her own arm off than relinquish any quick means of escape so easily, but we really do need to discover why they're holding Richard and Zedd. Our choices are limited.

"We have your word, as magistrate, that they'll be safe?" I ask, my face hard and uncompromising.

Albert nods, stroking his beard before flicking a hand towards his guard in a gesture for him to hurry.

"Perfectly safe," he says. "Now, if you'd like to follow me we'll take our conversation inside, away from prying eyes."

Looking over my shoulder as I hand my reins to the guard I notice that a small number of people have gathered not too far from us, watching our exchange. This town just gets more and more peculiar.

"If one hair on my horse is damaged, or one buckle on my bags undone when I get them back . . . somebody will pay," I hear Cara warn the guard as she too gives up her horse, following my example without question.

"No need to worry," Albert assures, gesturing for us to enter the villa before him.

Taking one last look outside, then at Cara, I give him a wary nod and then enter. I'm eager to see Richard to make sure he's ok, and get to the bottom of whatever problem landed him under the magistrates care. I suspect it's probably just caution on the magistrate's part, but something in the back of my mind warns me that it might not be so simple.

"This is a little odd," Cara remarks as we follow the magistrate down a long, narrow hall. "I don't think we should trust . . ."

Her words are cut short as a handful of burly, well equipped men file out of a room at the end of the hall. They don't seem intent on kindness and I feel Cara tense beside me. She lifts a hand to an agiel and abruptly pulls it away again, staring at me with wide eyes.

"What is it?" I ask her, feeling panic rise within me as I see a flicker of fear in her eyes that I've never witnessed before.

Cara grabs my hand and places it over one of her agiels, her brow heavy as she frowns deeply. I move to jerk my hand away wondering why she would do such a thing, but as my palm hits the smooth surface of the leather I realize instantly that I feel no pain. I hear no hissing scream as flesh makes contact with the agiel.

Grabbing it more firmly, I feel my heart sink in my chest and my body shudders as I quickly contemplate what it could mean. The agiels wield painful magic only when the Rahl bloodline is alive, so that must mean . . .

"What have you done with Richard?" I yell at Albert as the soldiers finally reach us in the narrow hall. "I demand to see him right now."

He turns to me, his eyes narrowing and his nostrils flaring. Cara pulls out her agiels regardless of their ineffectiveness now. Her stance is defensive and she moves just a little in front of me, making my heart skip for just a moment as I feel utterly protected by her.

"The Seeker is fine and you'll see him soon enough," the magistrate sneers. "I was hoping we'd conduct business a little less . . . violently. But I see your Mord-Sith has other ideas."

His eyes glance down at Cara's drawn weapons but at this point I'm in agreement with Cara; my hands instinctively reach for the daggers tucked in my boots, fingers resting on the handles but not yet sliding them free.

"Take them," he calls to the men now surrounding us. "The governor can deal with them all when he gets back."

"One step closer and you'll lose something vital," Cara growls at one of the men closest.

"Now, now," Albert soothes, looking altogether bored of the exchange. "There really doesn't need to be any bloodshed, and besides . . . I'm sure you've noticed that your agiels are ineffective here."

Cara looks my way, her scowl shifting only slightly in question, as if I have the answers to this man's riddles. I have no idea what's going on, however, and I'm losing my patience. With a move too quick for the magistrate to avoid I lunge for his neck with my hand outstretched. Gripping my fingers around his throat I give him a second in which to beg for me not to confess him. He says nothing, his eyes staring right at me with only a slight hint of panic within them.

"I'm sorry I have to do this," I say quickly before letting my magic roll through me and into him.

Only, I feel no magic. I feel no surge of energy crashing through my body ready to engulf both me and my confessed. With a sharp gasp I let go of the man's neck, looking at my hand as if the answer lies within it.

My confessor magic is gone.

"Your magic doesn't work here," Albert informs us roughly, rubbing his neck where my fingers have left red marks behind. "No magic does."

"What do you mean?" I ask, feeling stricken at the sudden loss of my power.

Cara moves closer to me almost imperceptibly, her arm brushing against mine as she continues to grip her agiels. For a brief moment I want to reach out and cling to her, hold on to something solid and reliable, but I fight the urge, giving the magistrate a steely glare that brings with it a clear warning.

"We do not tolerate magic in this town," he spits, backing away as the burly men move even closer to us, cutting off any hope of escape. "Which is why your wizard is now in one of our cells, along with The Seeker stupid enough to draw his sword at my judgment."

"Your judgment?" Cara questions angrily.

I can see her sizing up the men, fingers tightening on the handles of her useless weapons. Her breaths are coming quicker and there's a distinct glow about her that makes her seem more dangerous yet more beautiful all at once. I've seen it many times now and every time I'm left stunned by how it makes me feel. But now is not the time to be noticing such things; our safety is in peril and we have no realistic way of fighting our way out of this.

"The wizard used magic within our city walls and refused the punishment, so now they're our . . . guests. Until the governor returns at least," Albert explains. "I see now that we need to protect ourselves from further abuse at your hands."

He claps his hands and the guards descend, grabbing for both Cara and I to restrain us. We both move on instinct, back to back. I slip my daggers from my boots and hold them aloft though I know it's fairly pointless now. We're not only outnumbered – which is not normally a problem – but with no real means of escape and no weapons to compete with the heavy swords the men have pulled, we are forced to accept that this is one fight we can't win.

"If you cooperate it will save us all some time," Albert huffs.

Feeling Cara rigid and ready for anything behind me I almost decide we should just try our best to fight our way through this mess, but Richard and Zedd are here somewhere and we can't just leave them. Still, I don't feel comfortable lowering my guard and just going along with their demands. My hands keep a tight grip on my daggers and Cara presses closer to my back with hers as two of the men step forward, hoping to place chains around our wrists.

"What should we do?" Cara asks over her shoulder to me.

"Fighting would probably be a mistake," I reply, finding comfort in her warmth and scent despite the ominous circumstances.

"Yes, it would," Albert agrees, listening in. "No harm will come to you here unless you resist with force."

"I want to pull that man's beard off and shove it down his scrawny neck," Cara hisses.

"I'm sure you'll have your chance," I say in a whisper, "but it might have to wait."

Lowering my daggers, I glare at the magistrate. This will only be a temporary surrender, but he'll pay for treating us this way.

"Fine," I say gruffly. "Let us talk somewhere less . . . threatening."

"I'm afraid the time for talk is over," Albert insists.

The men rush forward as one and before I know what's happening I feel cold steel around my wrists and a hand covering my face. A hand holding something soft that smells sickly sweet.

I struggle as best I can and I feel Cara doing the same, her muscles flexing and straining against the large guards. I try to turn to her but my legs feel suddenly wobbly and the hall is growing darker, the walls seemingly pressing in on us until I'm falling to the floor on my hands and knees.

"Kahlan!" I hear as Cara reaches out a hand to me.

Briefly, I feel her fingers touch my back, glancing across my shoulder as she tries to keep some contact between us. Through the blackness and the abrupt nausea I try to answer, to find her hand with mine, but the world is spinning too fast.

"Ugh!" Cara grunts, still attempting to throw off the guards. "Get your filthy . . ."

I hear a gruesome thwack and Cara's body falls limp to the ground with a loud thud, her back towards me.

"Cara?" I rasp, slumping further forward as my knees give out completely.

I've been drugged. Something is pulling me under its spell and I can no longer fight it, though I manage to turn my head to see the trickle of blood spreading slowly across the tiled floor where Cara's head is resting. I feel pain shooting through me at the sight and my fingers slip into silky soft, blonde hair as I frantically search for the cause.

But I can no longer see properly and despite my desperate need to know that Cara is ok I finally succumb to the dark completely, unable to help. Unable to ensure the woman who is creeping into my heart will even live past this day.

The last thing I see is the stillness of her body and the garish red of her blood.

TBC…


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

I feel the hard stone floor beneath me shift as if I'm on a boat, swaying this way and that and making my stomach lurch. I know I'm on no boat however; there is no salt air, no breeze, and as I open my eyes they instantly seek out and spot Cara as she lies on her stomach beside me. We're in a room. A small room as far as I can see. But I have little opportunity to discover where or why at this point; my main concern is Cara.

Swallowing thickly and lifting myself on shaky arms, I reach out to touch her shoulder. She's clearly unconscious, as was I, but there is blood in her hair. Her face is turned from me but the shallow, rhythmic breaths indicate she is still not awake or aware. Not that I feel particularly awake or aware either.

"Cara," I say quietly, not wishing to alert anybody that might overhear, or that may be standing guard.

My gaze flits around us, making sure we're alone in this room. We are, and save for a bed at one corner and a door that opens up into what looks like an indoor privy, there is nothing and nobody else in here with us.

"Cara!" I say a little louder as I get no response.

Giving her shoulder a small nudge, I move closer on my knees, still feeling shaky. They must have drugged us both, though I don't know why or what they plan to do with us.

I suddenly think of Richard and Zedd, wondering if they suffered the same fate. Worrying that if they did they may not be in any position to help themselves, let alone us.

Moving my hand softly through Cara's hair, I wince as her blood coats my fingers. Panic begins to take its grip of me and I shake her more firmly. I position myself to be able to see her face and grimace at the bruise and the deep cut on her temple. That's where the blood obviously came from but the flow seems to have slowed to a stop. My fingers gently brush back blonde hair from the wound, careful not to hurt her even though she wouldn't feel it in her unconscious state. I don't think I could find it within myself to ever hurt her now. No matter the circumstances.

"Please wake up," I whisper, not only a plea to Cara but also to the Spirits, a plea for this remarkable woman to live another day by my side.

Cara mumbles, her body shifting slightly, and I silently thank the Creator.

"Don't try to move too quickly," I say, my hand resting gently on her shoulder. "You were knocked unconscious, and I think we were both drugged."

Another mumble and Cara attempts to raise her head to look at me. Her eyes are clouded, not the vibrant green that I'm so used to.

"Where are we?" she asks, her voice rough and low.

"I don't know," I answer, sitting beside her as she turns over and also attempts to sit.

Her movements are slow and I have the urge to help, but I know she'd probably slap my hands away and tell me my assistance isn't needed.

"The guards attacked us?" Cara guesses, reaching up to feel at her temple.

"Yes."

"Can I kill them?" she asks as her fingertips graze the nasty bruise on her head.

I can't help but chuckle and shake my head as she gives me a serious look that makes it clear she's not joking. She will kill them if we see them again, probably without any kind of permission from me.

"Have you tried the door?" Cara questions, doing her best to stand, wishing to take back control even though she's in no fit state right now.

"Not yet, I was too busy trying not to vomit."

I push up from the floor and get to my feet, swaying slightly. A miniscule window lets in enough light to see by, but the sun is going down already and the corners of the room are becoming shadowed. It's unnerving and makes me shudder as I wonder what might happen to us here, at the hands of people that obviously have no qualms about attacking without cause.

As Cara continues in her attempt to stand I offer her my hand, surprised when she actually takes it in order to help herself up. It's warm and strong in mine and I hide the small tremble it causes. Maybe things are changing between us in ways I didn't foresee only weeks ago. And now that we're both aware of a mutual attraction, I can only imagine things changing further. I'm not sure how I feel about that, how comfortable I am with what we might become, though I know we should never be lovers. Not if we're to keep from hurting and betraying Richard. Whatever happens, I must remind myself of that.

"I'll try the door, you check in there," Cara instructs, walking cautiously forward.

I notice her sway a little but don't rush to her as I wish I could.

Watching her momentarily, I eventually convince myself that she's not going to fall suddenly and hurt herself further. The small room to the side is indeed a privy, furnished with a large bowl already full of water next to the privy hole. I turn and find a small stack of cloth balanced on a lone chair. Those are for drying with I guess.

There's no window in the room, only the door in and out.

"Well, at least we'll be able to relieve ourselves if needed," I comment as I return to the main room.

Cara tries the door with no luck. It seems to be thoroughly locked.

"I'm definitely going to kill them," Cara growls, her hands moving around the hinges of the door to find a weakness.

She notices the sliding panel at head height just as I do, sliding across a metal cover that reveals bars at a small opening to look through.

Moving closer I peer into the space beyond with Cara, seeing nothing but darkness.

"Is anybody out there?" I call out. "Why are we being held here?"

Nobody answers at first but I hear a clanking sound that reverberates down the corridor this room is obviously on.

"Kahlan?" somebody calls from far down the corridor, and I realise almost instantly that it's Richard. "Is that you?"

Of course, I remember now that the magistrate said both Richard and Zedd were being kept in a cell. I guess that can now also be said of both Cara and I.

"Richard?" I call back, pushing my face close to the grid on the panel.

"Thank the Spirits you're ok," Richard shouts. "You are ok aren't you? And Cara?"

"We're fine," Cara answers beside me. "Where are we?"

"They threw us in this cell when we asked to leave," he replied. "Are you locked in too?"

"Very," I say. "And the door is thick. I don't think it will break."

"No, it won't," Richard confirms. "This one is just as thick, and tough. Even the Sword of Truth can't break it. But at least they didn't take it from me."

"Do you think there's magic at work?" I ask.

"A powerful magic is wrapped all around this building," Zedd replies, making his presence known.

"Zedd," I call, grateful to hear his calming voice, "did they hurt you?"

"Nothing but my pride, child," he answers. "They pulled me about like the frail old man I am without my magic."

"So you can't use magic here either?" I ask, needing confirmation that it's not just my confessor magic and Cara's agiels that are being affected.

"My fingers are as devoid of magic as my belly is of food right now," Zedd answers.

My own stomach growls at the mention of food. Cara glances down at my belly, but she doesn't smirk as she normally would. Ignoring the fact I'm very hungry now, I continue talking with Richard and Zedd – trying to get as much information as possible - as Cara moves to the window. She pulls over the bed towards the small opening, standing upon it so she can just about see outside. The window's size prevents any escape, as do the bars that clearly indicate that this is indeed a cell.

"All I did was give a flower to a small girl in the market," Zedd says as he explains why they'd been arrested. "Just a little magic to produce the flower and suddenly all the guards were upon us."

"We didn't fight, thinking it was just a misunderstanding," Richard continued, "and then once we were in this building . . ."

"Once you were here you _couldn't_ fight," I finish for him.

Though he would have been brave enough to take on all the guards to free both Zedd and himself, without the power and magic of the Sword of Truth it would have been impossible to get away with both of their lives.

"They must have sent the messenger to lure us here," I say, mostly to myself.

"What was that?" Richard shouts. "I think we're at opposite ends of this corridor, so you'll have to speak up."

"They lured us here," I reply loudly. "Then they attacked us."

Worry begins to set in as I wonder how in the Creator's name we'll escape this place.

Cara comes and stands beside me once again, her fists clenched and her jaw tight. Her anger is plain to see and I feel it also growing inside myself, wishing to get my hands on that scrawny magistrate and wring his neck. We're innocent of any crimes, yet here we are incarcerated with seemingly no way of escape. Our only hope probably lies with the governor. I recall the magistrate mentioning his immanent return several times.

"Has anybody spoken with you since they put you in your cell?" I ask Richard. "Have you seen any guards?"

"A guard came round a few hours ago, shortly after we heard a lot of shuffling and banging, which was probably them bringing both of you down here," he answered.

"The guard looked in on us but wouldn't answer our questions," Zedd finished for him.

As if on cue a loud clanking, rattling noise echoes around the walls and a gruff voice shouts for us to be quiet. A door slams shut again, more rattling clearly indicating that we're also locked in the corridor as well as these cells.

"We'll speak later," Richard calls, trying not to do so too loudly. "Don't worry, Kahlan. I'll get us out of here somehow."

The conviction in his voice is calming but I think our release may only come once the governor arrives. Hopefully any misunderstanding can be dealt with then, swiftly. If not then we'll have to plan on our escape by other means.

"We're at ground level," Cara informs me as I move away from the door, noticing that the disappearance of the sun has all but left us in complete darkness now. "The bars on the window won't budge."

I can hear the frustration in her voice and I share in it equally.

Watching as Cara pushes the bed back where it was, I let my mind try to wrap itself around this conundrum, hoping to discover some way in which we can get out of here with as little fuss as possible. I fear it will not be a simple task, however, and at the moment I am at a loss as to what our options might be.

Maybe one of the guards will be sympathetic if the governor insists we remain. Or maybe we could catch the attention of somebody outside and send word to . . . I realise that there really isn't anybody near this town that we could send word to.

"You need food," Cara suddenly says as she stands before me, her hands on her hips as she studies me.

"We both do," I remind her, unwilling to seem weak in comparison to her.

I realise my words were short and harsh as Cara narrows her eyes and turns from me, her jaw even tighter than before.

"I'm sorry, this is just . . ."

"Infuriating?" Cara finishes for me. "I swear, once my agiels are alive again I will shove it down the breaches of everyone involved in keeping us here until they pass out from the pain, then I'll . . ."

"I don't think I need to hear anymore," I interrupt, feeling a little faint and sitting down heavily on the bed.

It's only a single sized bed, the mattress is thin and the blankets worn, but they seem clean enough. In fact for a cell the place isn't bad at all, and with a privy it will be much less difficult being trapped here. Though it seems we'll need to share the bed, which makes things difficult on a whole different level. I can't think about that right now. Can't think about how awkward it will be after what we talked about earlier.

"I'll call for the guard," Cara says walking towards the door, her stride now confident and sure. Hopefully the blow to her head has left no lingering damage. "We need food . . . and another bed."

She looks over at me and the bed, her eyes only just visible in the darkness further from the window. I can see instantly that she's worrying about this arrangement as much as I'm beginning to.

"Guard!" she yells, making me jump.

"I doubt they'll just . . ."

Clanking followed by grumbling echoes towards us and suddenly a large face is peering in through the panel at the door.

"I brought food," the guard says gruffly.

I raise my eyebrows in much the same way as Cara does, moving from the bed to get close to see if I recognize the guard from earlier. I don't, and he doesn't seem the type that might be willing to help us.

"We also need another bed," Cara tells him as he jangles his keys, unlocking the bars so that they drop down, allowing him to slide two bowls of stew through the small panel.

Grabbing the bowls I quickly place them down on the mattress and go to stand back beside Cara. The guard laughs and shakes his head no.

"One bed per cell," he says. "You share."

"It's too small," Cara complains.

She hands me a small loaf of bread and a waterskin the guard pushed toward her. I put them by the bowls. A table would be better, but I guess there's a shortage of furniture in this place as well as manners and fair justice.

"Then sleep on the floor," he responds, leaving no further room for discussion as he slams the bars back into place and moves further down the corridor.

Watching as Cara grips a handle of one of her dead agiels, holding it tight in her grasp as she glares into the now empty space, I do my best not to think anymore about the sleeping arrangements. Really, I suppose it's the least of our worries, and at least we now have food.

A trickle of blood runs down Cara's temple as she continues to glare at the door and I'm reminded that she was knocked unconscious only a short while ago.

"Let me see to that," I say, gesturing towards Cara's head.

Her fingers go up to swipe at the blood, a sigh escaping her lips.

"It's fine," she insists. "I'll clean it in there."

Saying nothing more, Cara disappears into the privy, the sounds of water splashing nudging out the silence. Before long she emerges with slightly damp hair where she has washed out the blood and the cut on her head looking slightly better. It probably needs stitching but we have nothing in here to do that with. I will try not to fuss over her about it as she will only demand that I stop.

"Come and eat something now," I say, sitting on the bed and offering a bowl to Cara. Hopefully getting some food in her will stave off any dizzy spells she might have.

She takes the bowl, looking at it dubiously as she stands close by. I rip the bread in two, squinting in the scant light as I dip some in the stew and lift it to my mouth to take a bite.

"It could be poisoned," Cara suddenly says, rushing towards me and halting the progress of my hand with a firm grip of my wrist. "Or drugged."

I hadn't thought of that, my stomach ruling my head in a way that even Zedd would find amusing - as it's normally Zedd that thinks with his stomach over all else.

"Why would they . . ." I begin, but before I can get the rest of my question out, Cara lifts my hand to her mouth, her lips and teeth pulling the sodden piece of bread from my fingers.

The shudder that runs through me is more than obvious, and I only just manage to suppress a moan as I feel full lips grazing my fingers as she takes the small sample of food from me without hesitation. I know it's a completely inappropriate time to think of her in such a way, but I can't help enjoy the warm feeling that floods through me, or the way her eyes find mine as she licks at my fingertip, cleaning it of gravy.

My breath comes rapidly and I try to look away from Cara's eyes, but I find it impossible. I desperately want to know what those lips feel like on mine; how they would possess me, how they would taste.

As Cara raises an eyebrow I blush profusely, finally able to tear my gaze from hers. Ignoring the small smirk on those delicious lips, I get control of my body as best I can; chasing away the arousal she sparks within me so easily.

"You shouldn't have done that," I say, hearing the deeper timbre of my own voice and blushing further. I lick my dry lips and take a breath. "We could have just not eaten the food."

"Well I haven't dropped down dead so at least we know it's not poisoned, and we can fill our stomachs," Cara explains, her own voice betraying her.

As if also noticing that she sounds a little breathless she pulls away, dropping my wrist as if it's burning through her skin. She backs away quickly from the bed with her bowl and spoon.

As much as I know she did it for all the right reasons, I don't like that she's so willing to risk _her_ life before mine. Richard told her to keep me safe as she would keep him safe, but somehow, I know there's more to it than that. It can't just be out of loyalty to Richard, it can't just be because of her attraction to me. Maybe she feels more for me than she should. I know I feel for her. I know that I've tried not to; wanting to claw these feelings out of me to save us both from the complications of it all. There is no ridding myself of these feelings, however, they are inside me and burning out of control.

"It's actually quite good," Cara says, nodding as she spoons the stew into her mouth.

Before I find myself lost in thoughts of her lips once more, I concentrate on my own meal, taking tentative spoonfuls and filling my stomach with the bread. Unfortunately I can't help but think about the way her mouth had been upon my fingers and as I lift a bite of bread to my lips I slip the finger she'd licked further into my mouth than necessary, hoping for a hint of her taste, a glimpse of how hot and beguiling her tongue would be.

She seems to notice, but instead of smirking or raising an eyebrow as I would expect, Cara just watches me. I can see her quite clearly as she leans against the wall just under the window, allowing the moonlight to cascade over her; her gaze is fixed to my mouth, her nostrils flaring as if she needs more air than is in the room.

I know now that she wants me as I want her, but to see it so obviously is like stripping away the layers of caution I've constructed, ripping away the promises I've made to myself and Richard. With a flutter in my stomach I turn my head, pretending to busy myself with the waterskin before I rush to her and finally discover just how good it would feel to have that body pressed against me, those lips and that tongue colliding with mine.

It feels awfully hot in here, the air sticky as I gulp down some of the water, careful not to take too much in case the guards plan on this being our only waterskin for the duration of our stay. The guard had trudged back down the corridor from Richard and Zedd's cell with a string of grumbles and complaints, locking the corridor loudly behind him once again. Hopefully there will be a more pleasant guard later when their shifts change. Either myself or Cara could try to charm him into gaining more information, or perhaps the promise of a sneaky release. It will be a long shot, but worth keeping in mind.

The atmosphere has grown rather awkward along with the stifling heat and I fuss with my bowl and brush crumbs from the bed, finding myself fidgeting and unable to look at Cara without my thoughts straying. Moving to the privy, I put my bowl on the floor just outside and quickly glance within. I need to relieve my bladder but I feel rather uncomfortable having Cara so near by. I know it's silly, but my cheeks flush as I turn to her and indicate that I'll be using the facilities.

"I need to . . ." I stutter.

Cara nods, moving further from the privy and towards the bed.

"Of course," she says, lowering her eyes from me as she obviously notices my embarrassment.

Busying herself with the waterskin, Cara turns her attention from me and I find myself liking her even more for such a simple kindness. She's quickly stealing my heart.

The door to the privy doesn't quite close fully, but I know Cara will do her best to ignore the fact. The hole looks to lead down to a drain that has running water trickling through, carrying any waste with it. It could be a possible escape route if we're here for an extended period, but I really don't wish to think about one of us squeezing into such a tight, unsanitary space at this point.

I do my business and wash my hands and face in the bowl, using the small bar of lavender scented soap that was resting on the cloth towels. Placing the towels on the ground, I take the rickety wooden chair they were balanced upon back into the main room with me, placing it close to the moonlight coming through the window.

Cara walks to the door and shouts down to Richard, asking if they had been fed and watered similarly to us. He says they were, and that they plan on retiring for the night in the hopes that morning will bring a swift conclusion to this ridiculous incarceration.

I know we should do the same, but as I look at the bed I feel my stomach tightening and my hands growing damp. Neither of us can possibly sleep on this hard floor so we'll have to share. On one hand I really, really would enjoy that, but on the other much more sensible hand I know it will only drive us both crazy with want.

"You should use the bed," Cara suggests, as if reading my mind. "I will be fine on the floor."

I almost agree, but I can't possibly allow her to spend the night on such a hard surface. Though a small part of me knows I should accept, I shake my head.

"We can both use the bed," I say firmly. "If you sleep on the floor you'll be too stiff to react properly if we need to fight our way out of here."

The excuse is flimsy at best but I hold her gaze, making it obvious that arguing this point would be worthless. She knows I'm right, and I can also see that she wants to share with me, to be close to me, just as much as she knows she shouldn't.

"Fine," she responds, rolling her eyes. "If you think it's best."

Before I can assure her that I do think it's best, she stalks to the privy, undoing the buckle on her belt before she even reaches the door.

"I also need to pee," she states without a hint of embarrassment.

I look away from the door as she closes it as far as it will go, the sound of her belt jangling and her leather creaking as she pulls it from her thighs making my head spin. To distract myself I fold back the blanket on the bed and push at the mattress. It isn't that much softer than the ground but at least we'll be away from possible scurrying creatures in the night.

Disregarding as best I can the fact I can hear Cara reliving her bladder, I momentarily pause and wonder if I could pull my dress off and leave myself in the corset alone – it is awfully warm in this enclosed space – but it would probably be a mistake. It's better if I remain fully clothed.

Cara seems to have other ideas as she stalks from the privy with her buckles still undone and her fingers working herself out of the top portion of her red uniform.

"What are you doing?" I ask, more shrill than intended.

"Undressing for bed," Cara states as if I'm being terribly dense.

"Undressing?" I ask further, panic evident in the way my eyes have widened and my voice has risen to an almost comical pitch.

She cocks her head at me, pausing before freeing herself from the confines of the leather, but she doesn't pause long, obviously deciding that the need to be cool far outweighs the need to keep ourselves from excessive temptation.

I have no idea how I'm going to survive this night.

TBC…


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Cara gazes at me as if recognizing and sharing my pain, her fingers lingering on the leather just barely confining her breasts, giving a few moments' pause before her back stiffens and she continues with undressing. Her skin is slowly revealed to me; delicately tanned, spattered with freckles here and there, tantalisingly perfect.

I only just pull my gaze away before she pushes the top down over her breasts.

"I apologize, but it's far too warm to sleep in this, Kahlan," Cara says, the sound of buckles and leather filling the air as I busy myself turning back the blanket.

She's correct of course, and it would be incredibly cruel of me to insist that she remains clothed. She's been struggling with this recent heat enough as it is.

"It's just . . . this bed is very small," I practically squeak, rolling my eyes at myself.

"Believe me, I'm very aware of that fact," Cara responds.

I could almost swear there was a tremble in her voice, but I can't turn around and look at her to see into her eyes and discover the want and need I know will be there within them.

"We will sleep with our backs to each other," Cara declares.

Though that may help, I know it will only be a small reprieve from the desire I can now clearly feel coursing between us. With a small nod I keep my eyes averted as Cara places her weapons next to the bed and crawls under the blanket, though even in this dull light I catch a glimpse of her naked back, her thigh, the small cotton briefs that barely cover her most private area.

All the air leaves my lungs as I contemplate the beauty of her, the perfection of her skin and the slight flex of strong muscles. I could stand here and stare at her as she reclines under the moonlight until I have no strength left in me to stand, but I must control what I feel, ignore how she affects me. I whisper a thank you to the Spirits for the fact she isn't quite completely naked and prepare myself to join her on the bed.

"You should sleep next to the wall," Cara says, only just covering herself with the blanket. "It will be safer . . . in case anybody comes in."

I nod, unable to make my tongue and mouth work in any coherent way to ensure that words will form instead of inarticulate mumbles. Again, she's putting my safety before hers and it makes my heart ache in a way I wish it wouldn't.

Quickly, I unlace my boots and slide them off. Putting my daggers beside Cara's agiels, close at hand, I briefly ponder why on earth the guards would leave us with our weapons, but I suppose they must be confident of their ability to keep us locked in these cells. It may be a big mistake on their part.

Shaking my head and discouraging thoughts of escape for the moment I turn my attention once again to Cara, wondering how I will achieve getting into the bed to lay by the wall when Cara is already occupying the side closest to me. I'm left to wonder only briefly as she throws the covers back again and raises her eyebrow, waiting for me to climb over her.

My eyes close and my heart pounds, the assault of Cara's mostly naked form making all my nerve endings tingle with the desperate need to be closer, to know the sensation of her skin against mine. I daren't look, the briefest glimpse of those full breasts and their dusky pink nipples already tormenting me more than I can stand. Keeping my gaze to the space beside her once I prise my eyes open again, I climb over Cara, holding my body far from hers so we don't touch.

"You're sleeping in your clothes?" she asks once I'm settled – though how settled I could possibly be in such circumstances is up for debate.

"Yes," I answer without hesitation, tugging on tight cloth and leather in a vain attempt to get comfortable.

There's silence for a while and Cara turns from me, laying with her back to me as she suggested. I almost wish she would turn to me instead, but this situation is challenging enough as it is. After a short while, in which I do my best not to think about the half naked Mord-Sith in bed next to me, I realise that it really is far too hot to sleep in such heavy clothing. If I remove my dress I'll still have the barrier of my corset between us. I can cope with that, I hope.

Without speaking I untie the laces holding my travel clothes tight around me and begin to shuffle out of their confines. Cara says nothing, her head lying close to mine as my hair tangles within her blonde locks. Pausing, I stop to indulge in the way we contrast in that way; light on dark. I want to reach out and push my fingers through her hair to enjoy its texture. I wonder if she likes that; fingers running through her hair, caressing her neck, touching her reverently in the way I so wish I could.

I doubt that's the kind of thing Cara finds appealing, however. She has grown up with pain, with harsh touches, with intensity not tenderness.

When I continue wriggling out of my dress and jacket I find myself brushing against her on more than one occasion, feeling the heat of her skin against mine. The shock of it sends waves of sensation through me, all eventually centring between my legs in order to make me dizzy and breathless.

"Kahlan," Cara says softly, her voice rough with something other than sleep, "do you plan on sleeping at any point tonight?"

I find myself blushing even though she can't see, pushing the remains of my clothes off and shoving them to the bottom of the bed, adjusting my corset accordingly.

"I was too hot," I mumble by way of explanation.

"Evidently."

Ignoring the smirk I can hear in her voice I lay back down again, flipping around so my back is to Cara's. She jerks a little when my rear bumps against hers by accident and I quickly move in order to ensure we're not touching anywhere along our lengths. It's not an easy achievement in such a small bed, but the alternative would be maddening.

Stilling my breathing as much as I'm able I hope for sleep to come swiftly. Tomorrow we might be free from this cell and I won't need to suffer this torment any further, though a small part of my mind insists that I will only end up wishing for this closeness again. I ponder on whether Cara is feeling quite as distracted and uncomfortable but I need ponder no more as she lets out a small sigh, her body moving slightly in search of sleep.

We say nothing, both of us sleepless, both of us holding ourselves so stiff and so apart that even breathing becomes a chore. There is not enough space, and not enough will in all the world to keep me from turning towards her so I can mirror her position on the mattress. With a resigned grunt I flip over, instantly finding it more comfortable as my long legs tuck behind Cara's – not quite touching, but close enough to feel the warmth of her skin.

"I thought we were sleeping with our backs to one another," Cara says, breaking the eerie calm of the night around us.

"It feels like I have more room this way," I explain inadequately.

It's not quite a lie, or just an excuse, but as my body leans even closer towards Cara I can't help but feel the strain of dishonesty tugging on me in unpleasant ways.

I rest my hand between us, a barrier I wish I could cross. My gaze wanders once more over Cara's silken hair, my fingers twitching, aching to touch it. There's a burning sensation deep in my gut, both pushing me and pulling me to and from what I want. If only things were simple: Were I not the Mother Confessor: Were she not Mord-Sith: Were I not promised to another.

Without warning my mind drifts to all the nights I've listened to Cara, to last night when I watched her take pleasure from her own fingers with my name on her lips. The burning shifts to an ache and every part of me, every inch, wishes to know Cara intimately more than I can bear. If only sleep would come so I can free my mind of these thoughts of what I want her to do to me, with me.

Closing my eyes I think of Richard; how kind he is, how gentle. It pains me to know I'll hurt him, yet it pains me even more to ignore what I feel. There seems to be no end to this agony.

Focusing on the passing of time I realise that at least a candle mark has passed, perhaps more. Neither of us are yet asleep.

Another sigh emanates from the woman laying so close, the fifth I've counted so far. I can feel that she wants to move, to arrange her limbs, her body in ways that might facilitate sleep easier than this bed allows for. Taking pity on her I do my best to shrink even further from her warmth, pressing against the cool stone wall behind me. The stifling heat of the night is eased slightly by that first jolt of coldness against me, but I know the effect won't last. I'm sticky beneath my leather corset and only growing damper by the moment.

"There's no need to move further away," Cara says quietly, the sound of her voice a shock after such a long silence. "That isn't the problem."

"You can't sleep?" I ask, completely unnecessarily.

No doubt she rolled her eyes at my inane question.

"Maybe I should just get up," she says, her legs stretching a little under the light blanket.

If she gets up then I'll feel obliged to do the same and I really don't wish to end this sweet torture just yet. As much as being so close is undeniably agony, the thought of her pulling away is worse.

"Give it a little more time," I suggest softly, lifting my hand and almost settling it on Cara's shoulder for encouragement. I quickly change my mind.

"It's not time that I need," Cara responds brusquely.

Instantly I guess what it is that she needs. It's what she's been doing nearly every night to get to sleep. She needs release. I'm just not certain why.

I clear my throat, wanting to help her, to suggest some other way in which she can relax enough to find the embrace of dreams. But I have no idea what exactly to suggest.

"Is there no other way to . . ." I begin, blushing all over as I think about what she obviously needs to do.

"You know what gets me to sleep, Kahlan," Cara reminds me without need. "You've heard me."

"I have," I respond, all but a whisper.

"Mord-Sith need balance," she goes on after a momentary silence. "We're not only made with pain, but also pleasure."

"Oh," I say, unsure exactly what that might mean.

"I've been using my agiels a lot when we fight, so . . ."

"You need to balance out the pain," I finish for her quietly.

Her silence is answer enough and now I know why she's been doing what she has and driving me to distraction. I run my teeth over my bottom lip, contemplating what it must feel like to be a slave to sensation, be it pain or pleasure. Passion has never been part of my life. It could never be as a Confessor; though others do take lovers they have confessed, or choose mates that they can spend their lives with.

I've always felt uneasy about such things, preferring to deny that I have desires in order to control that part of myself. And now that I'm the last of my kind . . . my needs are inconsequential. I will have to find somebody to procreate with eventually or deny the world of Confessors forever. I know Richard will accept that and support me, though it will hurt him. He wouldn't support me if I took a lover just because I couldn't stop the pull of attraction, the hunger of desire, for no other reason than to just be with that person.

Never before have I felt this powerful tug of passion. With Richard it was different. This; I don't know how to control this.

If Cara is slave to this feeling then how can I tell her not to do whatever she can to ease the suffering? If I was a true friend, wouldn't I wish her to be able to sleep despite my own discomfort?

"If you need to, you can . . ." I begin, my throat going dry before the words fully come.

I can see Cara's jaw tightening and for a moment I want to take the offer back. I want to tell her she can't do it here, now, with me so close. But everything I've been feeling suddenly comes to the fore, and I want her to do it, need to feel the heat from her, drown in her scent as she possesses herself.

"Do what you require, Cara," I say, a little more breathless than intended. "You need to sleep."

Cara lifts a hand and brushes back some errant hair that must have been tickling her face, her action causing the blanket to move. I catch the smell of lavender from her skin and the subtle hint of the heat she's enduring along with me. I can almost taste her in the scent and I lick my lips.

"I don't need to sleep that badly," Cara argues, though she sounds less than convincing. "It's just one night."

"What if it's more than one night?" I ask, wishing to kick myself for continuing this when I could have agreed with her and let it go, saving both of us from this maddening temptation. "We both need to conserve strength in case we need it."

I'm fully aware that I'm making excuses and trying to convince her to do it, and I know Cara isn't stupid so she will also be fully aware of that fact.

After a pause that seems to heat the air around us until I want to claw out of my corset, Cara pushes her hand back under the blanket. My heart begins to pound even harder than it already was, my whole body eager to move fully up against Cara. I hold still, however, waiting.

"This is dangerous territory, Kahlan," Cara says.

I melt from the sound of arousal I can hear in her voice.

"I know," I reply. "But we're not . . . touching," I claim.

We're not giving in.

Cara's breathing rate has increased to match my own and I shudder as a trickle of sweat eases between my breasts in the tight, hot confines of my corset. I want to rip it off and press against her.

Her hand moves lower, I hold my breath. The sheet, caught up in the journey Cara's hand is taking, moves down past her shoulders, revealing her upper back to me so my eyes can feast. I imagine the taste of her skin coating my tongue, the sensation of feeling her muscles move under my lips. When Cara's legs shift a little to allow more room for her hand I catch the undeniable scent of arousal, filling the air between us already as she does her best not to tremble at the first touch.

I have no such luck suppressing my reaction as my skin prickles and my body quivers almost as if her fingers were on me and not herself.

"Are you sure?" Cara asks almost too calmly.

My eyes close as I fight with my conscience.

"Touch yourself, Cara," I reply breathlessly.

It seems as though time has come to a halt, some orchestrated magic that holds us here. I swallow hard and keep as silent as I can, as still as I can as Cara begins, her back still turned to me. Her fingers are sliding over herself, slowly, an economy of movement that ushers us both toward a line we know we mustn't cross. Her nostrils flare, sucking in the air as she quickens. The bed trembles as I do, only moments in, Cara's need growing with each pass of her fingers over delicate pink flesh that I can only imagine.

The air is thick with possibility but I don't move closer as I wish to. I don't reach out as I long to.

A moan thickens the air further and as I lean up slightly on my elbow I see that Cara's eyes are shut, her lips parted. Each breath she takes encourages her hand to move faster, harder, until her hips are moving in time and I feel myself aching with the lack of touch to my own sex.

I'm wet and enraptured, watching as Cara gives in to the pleasure at her fingertips. This is not like the other nights; this is so much more fraught with peril. I feel myself edging closer to her on the bed, almost close enough to touch skin with skin, certainly close enough to feel the heat radiating from Cara. I want to touch myself, I want to touch her; so many things running through my mind that I want and her scent is making me weaker still.

Breathing her in I find my nose disappearing into soft, blonde locks, making her falter momentarily.

"Don't stop," I whisper, my breath caressing the back of her neck.

Willing her on I speak no more and wait, rewarded as she parts her legs further and I hear the wet stroke of her fingers over her sex. I hear myself moan as I sigh, my nipples straining against the leather of my corset, my thighs squeezing together as I search for my own relief.

"Kahlan," Cara utters with a breathy moan of her own, possibly a plea for an end to this torture as her hips buck into her hand.

Her other hand reaches up, grasping onto the wood of the headboard slats. I want to take that hand in my own just to connect to her but she grips firm to the anchor of the wood and I remind myself that we can't touch, not in this. Justifying this is difficult enough.

When it almost feels like it's too much, too much to resist such a temptation, Cara begins to shudder more noticeably, her muscles stiffening and her body giving in to the highest peak of pleasure. I watch as the knuckles on her free hand whiten in their grip, as her lips fall apart even further, as she gasps freely into the air, almost there, almost there.

I can't stop myself and I find my fingers sliding over her shoulders, burning at the soft touch of perfect skin as my nose once again disappears into her hair. Her scent, her sounds, her mere presence overwhelms my judgment. My hand slides lower, feeling her muscles twitch as she holds herself just on the brink of release, caught in the moment. As I reach her side, finding the dip between her ribs and her hip, I allow my heart to open and crave this woman. My chest tightens, my body pleads, I find myself falling without hope of stopping.

"Make yourself come, Cara," I demand, nuzzling into her ear, ignoring the blush my words bring to my cheeks.

The result is almost instant, her throat letting loose a wanton whimper as I relent and press against her nakedness with my body, holding her at the hip as I feel everything else slip away.

"Oh, Kahlan," she gasps softly, so unlike her, so seductive in its quiet innocence.

Cara tumbles over the edge, her hips bucking one last time as the sticky sound of fingers on engorged flesh battles with both of our hard breaths. I feel her shudders through my own body and my sex clutches, wet heat dripping from my core. I desperately want to come with her, but I don't move, holding her to me as her muscles begin to relax and her breathing slowly calms.

I don't move away, caught in this bubble, captivated in its clutches as I forget about every reason I have to protect my heart from this beautiful Mord-Sith, every reason we need to fight what could be.

"Dangerous," she mumbles sleepily. "I shouldn't have . . ."

Her words drift away as her hand falls from the headboard, the breaths of pleasure quickly giving way to the breaths of sleep. I suppose the earlier blow to the head and being drugged might have helped push her finally into slumber, as well as the release she just achieved.

For a moment I worry, questioning if I should keep her awake after her period of unconsciousness, but she seems so peaceful now. All the tension has left her body, and if I ask her to stay awake she'll wonder why I was so adamant she sleep in the first place, and she'd know I'd allowed my desire for her to lead me, to take me down such a treacherous path.

I decide that watching her a while will ease my worry, so I settle against her, unable to pull away. My hand lingers in the dip at her side, so feminine and soft I almost want to lean down and brush my lips over that place just to experience the sweet torture of it. Maybe I should move away so I can regain some sense of duty, of consideration for Richard and for the things we've been through together.

Pausing, I struggle, hating this state that I'm in; so caught up in Cara's beauty and appeal, her strength and loyalty. Without cause not to fall, tears begin to fill my eyes. My hand drifts away from Cara's side, but before I go too far, before I pull away completely, Cara's own hand finally slips from between her legs and finds mine. My heart clenches and I feel the hot splash of my tears across my cheeks.

Her hand is warm, still sticky, and I allow her to hold my own hand against her side. The urge to wrap my arm around her is great, but I resist. This has to be enough.

Her palm is heavy against the back of my hand, her skin soft beneath it. I indulge in the thought of her essence touching me, marking me with her scent. In this moment everything feels right. In this moment I could allow myself to feel love for this woman. To feel nothing but comfort in the intimacy of our proximity.

In this moment I know I will never be the same again.

TBC…


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Light splashes over my face and I feel the emptiness of the bed beside me before anything else. A night spent pressed to Cara's back has brought a morning without her, yet I hear her nearby so my heart relaxes before I can panic. Opening my eyes and pushing back hair from my face I see Cara sitting upon the small wooden chair by the window. Her elbows are resting on her knees, feet apart, a frown at her brow.

She seems troubled, probably regretful. I try not to allow dark thoughts into my own mind, but I know I'll follow her down that path if I permit myself to struggle with the rights and wrongs of our actions and our feelings.

"You should have woken me," I say, easing sleep from my throat as I sit up.

Cara watches me for a moment as I allow the blanket to pool at my waist.

"There was no need," Cara replies, looking away again abruptly. "You only slept a candle mark longer than I."

I nod, unhappy with the sharpness of her responses. For a few moments I just sit, contemplating the distance between us in comparison to how closely we'd slept together all night. Not once did she let go of my hand. The thought of where her own hand had been before resting on mine makes me flush, and I embrace the tingle in my stomach instead of pushing it aside.

I cannot help how I feel.

"Have any guards been through?" I question, hoping to avoid a difficult conversation for now.

"Not yet," she replies, not meeting my eyes.

Cara is fully dressed, her agiels tucked into place at her side despite their magic not working in this place. I see that she's positioned my clothes more neatly at the foot of the bed than I'd left them, all set for me to slip into. As I ready myself to dress, leaning forward and pulling my clothes towards me, I suddenly hear shuffling outside in the corridor.

Quickly, Cara stands and moves towards the door, her body ready for any possibility. I hastily pull on my skirt, tying it around my waist as we await the intrusion from the guard.

The panel at the door slides slowly across, a face appearing; wary, alert, decidedly feminine.

"I'm not a guard," the woman says quickly, her voice hushed. "I'm here for the Mord-Sith."

Her eyes meet Cara's as Cara steps forward, a look of caution and distrust darkening her features as she peers through the panel at the woman on the other side. I see caution rapidly change to confusion on Cara's face; then something else sparkles within her eyes, just for a moment.

"Garen?" Cara questions the woman.

I can only suppose that that is her name as the woman looks closer at Cara, her brow furrowing for a heartbeat before a small smile quickly comes and goes.

"Cara," Garen says reverently, not a question. "I didn't know it was you they'd captured."

Feeling somewhat awkward I step away from the bed, moving nearer so I can see this woman more closely, so I can stand by Cara.

"Me and my . . . friends," Cara informs, glancing towards me as if just remembering that I'm still here.

I can barely see the woman behind the door, but her eyes dart my way, quick and untrusting. Her dark hair tumbles across her face as she suddenly whips her head to the left, peering down the gloomy corridor.

"We need to go now!" she says, the anxious sounds of her breaths making my heart begin to beat rapidly.

As she speaks she looks only to Cara, and as I hear the jangle of keys at the door my mind catches up with what is about to happen.

"What about Richard and Zedd?" I ask.

She looks at me, puzzled.

"I'm only here for the Mord-Sith," she responds with undisguised venom. "For Cara."

Cara looks my way, just as unsure as I am about what is taking place and how to react. I feel the strong urge to take Cara in my arms and not let her go. Not let her be parted from me.

"We all go," Cara says suddenly, turning away from me again, her green eyes piercing Garen with a stare that will not permit argument.

"I'm not here to rescue a . . . a Confessor," Garen spits. "We were told a Mord-Sith had been captured."

"And here I stand," Cara reminds her, "but we will _all_ leave this place, Mistress Garen."

Her tone is unmistakable; hard, unwavering.

"It would be too difficult. There's no time," Garen says, rubbing a hand over her brow.

"Then come back when there _is_ time," Cara insists.

"Wait," I interject, "maybe if you go you can at least find a way to . . ."

"No," Cara asserts, her gaze fixed on Garen as she speaks, "Garen will come back when she's able to free all of us."

"Mistress Cara, you're really asking me to aid a Confessor, and The Seeker?" Garen questions, her dark eyes penetrating and apprehensive.

"I will not leave without them," Cara confirms, making my heart jump as it dissolves for this woman beside me and her unquestioning loyalty. "Surely you've heard that I travel with them now."

"I heard rumours, but . . ."

Footsteps somewhere beyond the corridor causes Garen to flinch.

"I have to go," she says in a whisper. "The guards are changing already. I'll come back tomorrow at the same time."

"For all of us," Cara demands.

She stares long and hard at Garen, a silent battle between them that makes me wonder just how well they actually know each other.

"Yes, Mistress," Garen finally concedes, though her lips are tight and she glares my way before pushing the panel closed and rushing from the door.

Listening at the door a while, Cara holds my gaze. Neither of us moves, waiting for what might happen if our supposed rescuer is caught. I find myself falling into Cara's eyes, letting the vulnerability I see there break through the hardness she shrouds herself in, hides behind. We hear no noises that indicate Garen may have been captured but we remain fixed on each other, unwavering as we take pleasure in just being able to look, to indulge. I could look into Cara's eyes until the Spirits take me to my final resting place, until I no longer have breath to breathe or a heart to beat.

I doubt she knows the innocence of her beauty under all that has tried to damage it.

When I feel myself moving closer to her as she does the same, a voice from beyond our cell breaks this sudden grip, and the inevitable loss of restraint that was to follow.

"Kahlan?" Richard calls. "Is everything ok? We heard voices."

A dagger-like stab hits my heart and I break eye contact with Cara, feeling nauseous as I ponder how close we may have gotten to each other, how close to testing the softness of each other's lips, if we hadn't been interrupted.

"We're ok," I call back.

I want to warn him that he needs to be ready this time the following morning, but we can't risk being overheard and the jangle of keys leaves us in no doubt that the guard is coming this way.

"Quit yelling," the guard bellows. "Dumb serving girls gettin' in the way and noisy prisoners," he grumbles to himself. "I need a break from this dump."

Cara raises an eyebrow and I have no doubt we're both wondering about the 'serving girl' he mentioned. Perhaps it was Garen, though Cara had called her Mistress Garen and had clearly known her. Then maybe she was in disguise. Whatever the case, I can only hope that she does come back tomorrow to help us. All of us.

We move back away from the door, appearing as calm as possible as the guard tells us to face the wall with our hands on our heads. Neither of us wish to comply at first but two more guards with loaded crossbows back him up and we relent, peeking from the corners of our eyes as our water is changed, dishes removed, and breakfast is placed on the floor.

At least they know how to take care of prisoners here. I can't really fault them in that area, though of course we should not be here at all.

"Don't move," one of the guards grunts as Cara twitches.

I wonder if she was about to make a move on them, but I'm certain even she can see the futility in that, and if Garen does indeed come back then we must accept that that is our best option at the moment for escape.

Glancing her way, I subtly shake my head.

Cara's jaw is tight. In fact every inch of her is taught and prepared to act. I can feel the need to attack rolling off her body and it almost sweeps me up in her desire to fight back. But we can't. We must be sensible in this if nothing else.

Without another word the guards finally leave our cell, locking the heavy door behind them as they move down the corridor to repeat the same process with Richard and Zedd. I pray to the Creator that Richard doesn't do anything rash. Together, both Cara and I linger by the door and listen. There are no sounds of scuffling or fighting when the guard orders Richard and Zedd to stand by the wall as he did with us. My heart is beating hard, my hands in fists at my side.

"Don't do anything foolish, Richard," I mutter under my breath.

Cara seems equally as worried, her face a picture of intense focus as she too awaits the possibility of all hell breaking loose.

When the guards clank at Richard's door - locking it again - and move back down the corridor, I breathe a sigh of relief. My small smile reaches Cara and her gaze lingers at my lips. Her expression of intense focus soon turns into anguish and she spins quickly away from me. My next sigh has nothing to do with relief.

This thing between us is becoming impossible. Impossible not to act on. And after last night I don't how we can ever go back to ignoring what's so obviously pulling us together. I feel both embarrassed about my wanton insistence that she touch herself, and elated that I'd been so daring.

Distracting myself from thoughts of what she'd done and how I'd encouraged her, touched her and held her close to me, I pick up the bowls from the floor. Offering one to Cara I give her an apologetic smile and hope she can forgive me for being so weak, and so confounding.

"Porridge?" she asks with distaste as she takes the bowl from me and prods at its contents with the spoon.

"I think so," I respond with equal distaste.

We both glumly make short work of our breakfast, no words said between us as we contemplate and agonise over our situation. The silence stretches as I place the now empty bowls back by the door and make my way to the privy. I clean up as best I can, using the soap and slightly tepid water to wash away some of the heat from last night that still clings to my skin.

Though the door doesn't shut all the way I only pause momentarily before shedding my clothes. Despite our differences, and despite this growing yearning between us, I feel safe enough to wash unhindered. I find the space between my legs still slippery with need from last night. My body trembles as I splash some water there, using one of the rough towels to dry myself. My fingers want to stray, to touch, to give me what I need, but I refuse to allow myself that small reprieve.

The water is but a small relief for my warm skin, and as I wipe the droplets from my breasts I linger long enough to notice how swollen with desire they feel. How desperate for attention from Cara. Again, I force myself not to take pleasure from my own fingers, dropping my hands from myself and quickly dressing.

I leave my jacket off, only tying the skirt of my travelling clothes around me so I'm wearing just that and my corset. The corset covers me enough not to worry about feeling too exposed, but as I leave the privacy of the small room I can't help but notice how Cara's eyes roam over me in a lazy caress. I shudder involuntarily but remain as composed as I can be.

Retrieving my boots from beside the bed I slip them on and loosely tie them. Cara makes her way into the privy, my gaze lingering on her back. I momentarily feel embarrassed about the fact I needed to rinse out my briefs and leave them in their drying out, but I can't allow such trivial things to make me seem foolish. She's seen my briefs before no doubt so it would be silly to dwell on such a thing. It was entirely her fault that they'd become so in need of washing anyway.

She isn't in there long so I imagine she'd already washed herself earlier, before I was awake. The sudden thought of her standing in there naked, splashing water over herself, makes my cheeks flush and my stomach twist in a way that I'm growing increasingly used to in Cara's company.

Suddenly, the fact I'm no longer wearing briefs becomes uncomfortably noticeable. I shift as I sit on the bed, the near constant ache between my legs making me feel even more powerless than this forsaken place with its magic suppressing enchantment.

I've never felt so desperate to be touched before in my life. So constantly aroused.

When Cara returns to the room I force myself not to look at her for any length of time. I do notice that the gash on her temple looks sore, however. She must have been cleaning it, though it really could use some stitches. I wonder if I should ask the guard for the tools to do so, but Cara would probably be annoyed that I'm fussing over her. It might be wiser just to wait until we're free of this place and then tell Richard to insist she gets the cut seen to properly. Cara's much more likely to follow Richard's instruction than mine.

As we both settle into an uncomfortable silence, I think of things I can say to break the tension, things we could talk about. But I remain quiet, unable to think of anything that won't stir up thoughts of being with her. Neither of us mentions what happened last night. Neither of us daring to put voice to what it meant to both of us. Avoiding the subject makes me feel even guiltier for our transgression, but talking about it would only make matters worse.

Cara begins to pace as the day drags and I spend a little time talking – with difficulty – to Richard. I try to allude to the fact we may be rescued the following morning, but I can't be sure he understood. He sounds frustrated but eager to keep me from worrying; his boyish charm doing all it can to make me smile.

Richard will always have a place in my heart, but he doesn't make it burn the way Cara does. He doesn't make it throb full of unspoken, raw and powerful feelings that threaten to consume me.

I turn to gaze at Cara as she rests on the bed, her long legs stretched out. Her hands are behind her head and her eyes are closed. She's stunning to me; an exciting mix of beauty and strength, of calm and menace. Her chest raises and falls in a steady rhythm, breasts straining against the tight confines of her red leather. My gaze lingers there, at the soft fullness, the scattering of beauty marks and freckles, the swell that my hands wish to caress, to explore.

There's a very distinct possibility that I'm completely infatuated with Cara's breasts. I blush and quickly look away, fighting the urge to cross the room to her, to nuzzle at her cleavage with my nose, my lips taking what they want. Bewitched as I am, I'm not sure of my ability to fight these urges any longer. I proved that last night.

"This day threatens to be the longest day I've ever lived," Cara grumbles, breaking the silence she has harboured all morning.

I can only nod in agreement even though her eyes remain closed.

Needing to do something, say something that will distract me from my lascivious thoughts, I take a seat by the high window and ask the question that I've been wondering about since our early morning visitor gave us hope of rescue.

"Do you know the Mord-Sith that came earlier?" I enquire.

Cara's eyes open and her breathing stops for a moment, as if she's in deep thought. I wonder why such a simple question requires such a pause but I can't fully read the look in her eyes as she stares up at the ceiling. For a moment there is pain there, settling on her brow, but it's gone before she answers.

"I did," she says curtly.

When it doesn't seem likely that she will continue or elaborate I decide I need to know more. Something is amiss.

"Her name is Garen?" I press, watching her closely.

"Indeed," she replies.

This is like pulling teeth from a Gar and only arouses my interest more.

"Were you in the same temple?" I question, aware that at any moment her temper may snap and she'll tell me to be quiet in no uncertain terms.

"Once," Cara responds, an obvious trace of sadness making my heart clutch in my chest.

Sadness is not an emotion I would often associate with Cara, but to hear it so vividly from her lips, in her soft sigh . . . I want to reach out to her and pull her to me, ask what troubles her. Another part of me doesn't wish to know, however. A jealous part of me that is sure I won't like learning more about Garen and how she can make my normally fierce and unwavering Mord-Sith sound so sullen.

"Did something happen?" I ask, not certain I need to hear the answer.

I was fairly sure that Mord-Sith didn't engage in romantic entanglements with each other – sure that it is in fact forbidden for them – but something makes me wonder if Cara and Garen were more than just members of the same temple. Feeling more than what Mord-Sith are generally acknowledged to feel for another person. Mord-Sith don't love. At least not as far as I'm aware.

Cara sighs in frustration and swings her legs around, sitting on the edge of the bed now and facing me.

"Why are you asking these questions?" she brusquely demands, her jaw tight, face hard, warning me not to continue.

"I was just . . ."

How can I explain that I need to know more about her? Need to know if she's able to love, even though it will pain me to hear she's loved another.

"You were just what?" Cara snaps, rising now and beginning to pace before me. "Prying? Attempting to anger me? Attempting to hurt me?"

With her last words I feel my stomach drop. I never intended to hurt her and am surprised at the choice of her words.

"Cara, I would never . . ."

I stand and move towards her but Cara moves away, turning her back to me. My hand lifts, wanting to reach out and touch her, but I don't allow it to; knowing it would only fuel her obvious annoyance. A thousand questions fly through my mind, wanting to know, wanting to learn about this enigma before me. This Mord-Sith who feels.

"We were lovers," she says abruptly, still not facing me, not looking into my eyes to see the baffling array of emotions within them that I'm experiencing.

Before I can say anything she continues, her voice low, tainted with anger at having to explain.

"Mord-Sith use one another for pleasure," she tells me, the tightness in her shoulders making my own ache for her. "It's our way; to balance the pain."

I nod, remembering what she'd said last night, though she doesn't see.

"But we're not permitted to lay with the same Mord-Sith on multiple occasions. Attachment is _not_ our way."

"So you and Garen . . ." I begin, piecing it together myself, a mix of jealousy and compassion burning at my guts.

"We broke the rules," she says with a regretful sigh. "She fell in love with me and we . . . we began to only take pleasure in one another."

I briefly question why Cara didn't say that they'd both fallen in love. Maybe she didn't feel the same as Garen, or maybe she's just unwilling to admit to it. Whatever the case, I know she must have felt something for her; I can hear it in her voice.

"What happened?" I push, knowing that this story surely doesn't have a happy ending.

"We were caught," she says sadly, though her shoulders only sag for a moment before she turns to me, a look of determined indifference on her face. "We were then 'retrained' for several weeks, and she was sent to another temple and forbidden to ever speak to me again."

My heart trips, experiencing the pain for her that I can see she won't allow herself to fully succumb to, but I have no doubt now as I look into her eyes that she felt love for that woman. That she had loved and lost.

All at once I feel overjoyed to know that it's possible for Cara to love, saddened that it was taken from her, and angered that I may never know what it's like to have her feel that way about me.

"I'm sorry," I say, taking a step towards Cara.

She flinches and backs away, the vulnerability that was briefly in her eyes giving way to cold, hard detachment.

"_I'm_ not," she insists. "We were weak. That kind of weakness is . . ." She looks to the floor, the green of her eyes growing dark, sombre. "That kind of weakness is pathetic, wretched," she spits. "Dangerous."

I want to tell her that love isn't pathetic or wretched. That it can be wonderful. But how do I do that when I'm so busy desperately fighting such a weakness in myself? Fighting not to fall completely in love with her.

"Are you finished with your questions now?" Cara asks sharply, glaring at me.

I say nothing, my mind as confused as my heart.

She can love, but she won't.

Maybe that's proof enough that we can never be. That we can never submit to the desire we feel for one another. I should never allow myself to love her.

But my heart hurts at the very notion.

I already do love her.

TBC…


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

The rest of the day passes with very little said between Cara and I, our minds occupied with our own thoughts, our eyes avoiding each other. I know I pushed her too far by questioning her earlier, and I know I should apologise, but I can't feel completely sorry for discovering that Cara can possibly love. The apology would be false, just as the claim that I can continue to doubt or ignore how I feel about Cara. There are some things a Confessor must adhere to, and the truth is at the very top of that list.

I wish I could confide it in her, explain myself and tell her that I wish to care for her in ways she wouldn't allow; but I bite my tongue, certain of the rebuff I would receive, and certain that right now it's better not to say anything than risk what we already have. Than risk upsetting or angering Richard and throwing all our lives into confusion. Too much is at stake. The truth must stay inside me, only to be heard by myself.

When the light begins to fail from outside, casting shadows around the room, I slump onto the bed. Cara is seated on the chair, her fingers running up and down one of her lifeless agiels, bored and frustrated beyond belief as we do nothing but wait for the coming morning. I surreptitiously watch her, the furrow of her brow increasing my guilt. The tight line of her lips making me nervous and unsure. The newness of our friendship, of our understanding of one another, makes these shifting feelings between us a hazardous landscape on which to keep our footing. Neither of us knows which way to step for the best.

I do know that Cara would stay loyal to Richard with all her will, with all her Mord-Sith determination, if I were to say nothing more about what we so clearly want from each other. If I were to forget this desire, this yearning, and never speak of it with her again maybe we could overcome it. Maybe we could form a solid friendship that would never stray. But my heart is already calling to her and I doubt my strength, my own will. I doubt my ability to resist such temptation.

So many things clamber to escape from my mouth, to break the silence, to break the tension, but I still say nothing. I watch as Cara slides one agiel back into her holster, only to pull out the other and run her fingertips just as reverently over that. Leather on leather, desperate to feel the pain. I wonder what kind of magic has been placed upon this building. Wonder at its origin and its strength.

Searching within myself to find any shred of my Confessor magic, I find none. It makes for an emptiness inside me, and it's beginning to leave me feeling incomplete. Wrong.

"I'll be glad to get out of here," I mutter, unsure if Cara will hear, though not really worrying if she doesn't; the words were mainly meant for myself.

I glance her way to see one of her eyebrows raise.

"I know," I say with a sigh.

I don't need her to tell me that it was an unnecessary and obvious statement, and that she would expect no less.

"Hopefully tomorrow," she responds after a brief pause, her voice sharp but low, a mix of subtle emotions teasing at the edges.

Nodding, I turn away from her again, staring up at the ceiling as I lay back on the bed. My mind begins to wander to the Mord-Sith that is hopefully going to set us free; to Garen, Cara's one time lover. The word lover bites at my heart, but it would be incredibly silly of me to feel jealousy over Cara's bed-mates from the past; I know she's had many more than her fair share. Garen, however, was obviously more than just a means by which to relieve tension. There was more to it, more to them. Though I would like to know what kind of relationship they had, a big part of me wants to pretend that Cara doesn't have a past at all. Doesn't have a story that tells of separation and possible heartbreak.

I want Cara all to myself.

These thoughts are full of trepidation and unease, and I search within myself to find a place of quiet sanctuary from this burning inside me, but without my magic to focus on I find myself drowning in possibilities and I can't seem to pull myself out. I have to have Cara. I have to allow myself to love; it's what a Confessor is.

Pulled this way and that by my emotions and duty, I feel quite dizzy.

Sitting up I look Cara's way, finally believing I have the right words to let her know that I can't fight what I feel, but as I open my mouth to speak the guards noisily clutter the corridor with their rattling keys and their grousing. I bite down, practically grinding my teeth as they reach our door and order us to move back as they did the previous evening, bringing in food and water as we wait.

I'd come so close to ruining everything. How could I possibly forgive myself if I gave in and jeopardised everything we know? Everything with Richard, with the quest, the precious friendship I have now with Cara. It would all have been destroyed at my hand, with my words.

I fight back the tears that suddenly threaten to fall; once again reminded that a Confessor – though she's the very embodiment of love – is expected to surrender her heart for the good of higher things, for duty, for honour, for everything but herself.

My cheeks grow wet despite my resolve not to crumble, and I hold myself as still as I can as the guards do their jobs in silence. A silence that Cara soon fills.

"When is the governor to arrive?" she asks them, turning her head to look their way as we stand with our backs to them.

"How should I know?" One of the guards grunts in response.

"Then I demand to see the magistrate," she continues. "You have no right to keep us here."

Another of the guards laughs. "You're a bitch Mord-Sith. We'll keep you here as long as we want," he grates. "And the magistrate'll soon let some of us show you how we treat your kind in this town."

From the tone of his voice and the breathy laughter that follows it's clear what he means, and my blood instantly boils. Unable to even imagine anybody touching Cara in such a way I brush away the tears from my cheeks and twist my body in order to wipe the smirks from their faces, but a strong hand stays my momentum and I find myself restrained by Cara.

Her eyes meet mine, sure and steady, a silent plea within them not to do anything rash on her behalf.

"Don't make us have to restrain you," the largest guard warns.

"That won't be necessary," Cara responds tightly, her hand still gripping my arm. "You can leave us."

The guard huffs, nodding for his comrades to leave the cell, though one makes a lewd remark on his way out and I almost dive after him, only the hand holding me back saving me from such a mistake.

"It isn't worth it," Cara soothes, the barely restrained growl escaping her lips indicating that she too wanted nothing more than to tear those men limb from limb.

"I just . . ." I fight to breathe past the sudden anger. "I won't let them hurt you," I vow.

Cara looks deep into my eyes, truly inside me.

"I know," she accepts without question.

For a moment we're caught up in each other, and I sense the change in our friendship so clearly. So noticeably. Cara would never have allowed me to suggest she needed protection or help before, and certainly not from me. She would have told me in no uncertain terms that she could take care of herself, and that my misguided anxiousness about her safety was completely and wholly uncalled for. My chest feels heavy at the thought, so full of everything I shouldn't even consider accepting.

Why does this have to be so difficult?

With a final squeeze of my arm Cara finally lets go of me, moving towards the meal the guards have brought us. We eat sullenly, quietly, the air stifling with tensions we cannot hope to just brush aside.

"At least they have a decent cook," Cara says suddenly, though she fails to meet my eye.

"I'm sure Zedd is probably already planning another visit," I suggest.

That gains me a small lift of Cara's lips as she nods in agreement. She doesn't smile often, especially not for frivolous reasons, but when she does it makes me want to rush over and hug her. Of course, if I did such a thing I would find myself sprawled on the floor having been unceremoniously shoved away. So I just enjoy her smiles from afar, burning with the need to tell her how beautiful she looks when she does it.

After a few more spoonfuls of stew, Cara glances my way, an expression on her face that I can't quite place. I raise an eyebrow in question, but she shakes her head and turns away again, as if stopping herself from saying something, or asking something.

I know I shouldn't push, but the curious glint in her eye has me wondering.

"What is it?" I ask.

Cara doesn't answer right away, choosing to take her time ripping some bread for her bowl of stew. I shrug my shoulders, believing no answer will come, but then Cara breaks the silence once again.

"Mentioning Zedd made me think of magic, and the lack of it here," she says.

I wait for her to elaborate but nothing more seems to be forthcoming. I could have sworn she appeared to want to ask me something, however. Almost jumping when she continues, I feel my heart begin to thud loudly with what she might be implying.

"Your Confessor magic," Cara says. "It doesn't work here."

Her gaze is fixed to the floor. I place my half eaten bowl of stew beside me, watching Cara as she attempts not to fidget on the chair by the window.

"No, it doesn't," I confirm unnecessarily. There's a slight tremble to my words that I hope Cara won't notice.

Taking a deep breath, Cara lifts here eyes to mine, but only briefly before looking away once again.

"If you were in here with Richard you could . . ." she begins, but her voice falters and her shoulders stiffen.

Surely she can't be suggesting that I'd wish to lay with Richard, or maybe she just hasn't quite grasped what she's become to mean to me. Clearly she doesn't know that being with Richard in that way is not something I want now. But if I correct her, if I indicate that my interests are solely wrapped up in her . . . there would be no easy way to avoid further temptation. Honesty has never been something I've avoided before and this strange sense that I'm betraying who and what I am makes me feel ill, nauseous.

"I wouldn't do that," I respond boldly, deciding that sincerity should always be what leads me.

She looks my way, so much emotion in her eyes that I find myself taken aback, surprised by what I can see even as the failing light leaves us sat in shadows. There are questions she wants to ask but daren't, and the knowledge that this courageous, normally impudent woman is afraid of the things she feels makes me lose the very last shred of hope not to completely fall under her spell. She must be so confused, desperately clinging to what she knows, to the rules of everything the Mord-Sith stand for. I see such conflicting emotions within her and I want – need – her to know that she's not alone in this.

"Cara," I say softly, making sure her gaze does not leave mine. "What I feel for Richard has changed. You . . ."

"You shouldn't say anymore, Kahlan," Cara interrupts, rising from the chair abruptly.

"I know I shouldn't," I agree, filled with shame, with guilt; but the way she says my name has me so close to revealing exactly what she doesn't want to hear. "I can't pretend that everything is the same as it was."

"You said if we can't ignore this 'thing' between us then I should leave," Cara recalls. "So once we're free of this idiotic town I'll try to explain to Richard that my service to him would best be conducted in another way, elsewhere."

She speaks in a rush, pacing the small room, from the window to the door and back again. But she's wrong; I didn't say she would have to leave. I distinctly remember her coming to that conclusion on her own.

"Cara, I didn't say that," I tell her, though her pacing continues as if she hasn't heard.

"I could still help with the quest to find the Stone, just . . . in my own way," she persists, her hands in tight fists at her side.

"Look at me," I instruct, my voice soft, hoping she will understand and accept what I have to say.

The blur of red leather slows to a stop and Cara turns to me, folding her arms across her chest, her brow furrowed. If it were anybody else I would say she looks worried, anxious, but I've never seen this side of Cara before so it's a little hard to say for certain what's written on her expressive face.

I want to stand, move closer to Cara, but I know that would entice me to reach out to her and at the moment I think she'd probably react with anger.

"I didn't say you would have to leave, Cara," I tell her. "If we can't control the way we . . . the way we feel," I say, noticing how the word makes Cara's jaw clench in defiance at the assumption that she even has feelings, "then I'll have to tell Richard."

Cara's eye go wide, her hands dropping back to her sides as she looks at me as if I've gone completely mad.

"Tell him what?" she asks, uncharacteristic panic raising her voice. "You can't just casually tell the Lord Rahl that I want to bed his future wife."

I ignore the fact that she's suggested this is only about sex – I know there's more to it than that, otherwise she wouldn't be in such a muddle over it – and finally rise from the bed to stand in front of Cara.

"There would be nothing casual about it," I accept. "But I can't lie to him. I've tried and it's making me question everything about myself. This is making me question everything about myself," I add, indicating the both of us.

"Then we need to stop this," Cara says, her back straightening as she tries her best to cling to what she thinks is her duty.

"We haven't even started," I remind Cara, indulging in this pettiness with her.

"Last night?" she reminds me, raising her eyebrows.

I feel a blush spread across my cheeks and know I can't deny that we crossed a line last night that we shouldn't have. Even though we didn't really touch I'm not foolish enough to insist it meant nothing.

My body recalls how it felt to be so close to Cara as she touched herself, as she gave in to what she needed. I can remember every sound, every scent, the sensation of her hair against my face. Maybe we have already stepped beyond what we should have, and it's too late to turn back now. I'm going to have to explain things to Richard and hope he doesn't hate me. I'm going to have to trust in Cara and what she feels. I can't even begin to imagine what my sister would think of me for wanting Cara in the way I do and I decide not to think about that yet; I can't deal with the guilt that I'm already struggling with.

"Kahlan," Cara says, the tone of her voice making my skin prickle.

I look up into her eyes, only just realising that I'd drifted in my mind, with my thoughts. She's closer now than before.

She continues. "I know I can no longer deny that I . . ." Cara's gaze travels the length of me and I react as if she'd just touched me all over with her hands, every inch of me hot, aroused. "That I desire you. That I think about you. You're a very attractive woman."

My lungs feel suddenly starved of air and the distance between us, though less than before, feels like a chasm so wide I fear I might plunge to my death if I were to take just one step forward.

"But you understand that Mord-Sith don't . . . we can't . . ." Cara looks away, clearly finding the words difficult because they're a lie.

I see conflict within her, eating at her, daring her to let herself believe what she's feeling. I know she'll fight it, however. She's been taught that emotions like love are bad, weak, something the Mord-Sith should despise. Whatever it is she feels for me is obviously making her battle with herself. Maybe she has been falling for me as I have for her, though I can't know for sure. I do know that it's not as simple for her as just wishing she could have her way with me, regardless of what she might be trying to convince herself is true.

She cares for me, no matter how much she might wish to tell me otherwise.

In the short time we've known one another we've come to depend on each other in ways that would have been unfathomable to imagine when Cara first joined us. She protects me in battle even more than she does Richard, and I know that it has nothing to do with Richard's insistence that she do so. Maybe it began that way, but I've seen the change in her, as much as I've seen it in myself.

The growing attraction I have for her has blossomed into more, and I somehow know that it's the same for Cara. Lust may have been the spark for whatever burns inside her, but it's not the only thing sustaining it now. I see a need in her eyes that mirrors my own.

"I know that you can feel, Cara," I say, ignoring the flash of anger across her face as I guess what it is that's making her so apprehensive. "You said yourself that Garen had fallen in love with you, so love for a Mord-Sith is entirely possible. And I can read more from you everyday, through your eyes."

"Then maybe you shouldn't look in my eyes," Cara rails, her stance as defensive as her words.

"Maybe I shouldn't," I agree, trying not to get as defensive in turn. I don't want this to turn into an argument. "But your eyes are . . ." I take a breath, finding the truth on my tongue and unable to temper it. "Your eyes are beautiful."

Anger is replaced by something altogether softer on Cara's face, just for a moment, before she turns from me, walking away as if in disgust.

"Don't say things like that, Kahlan," Cara mumbles as she fruitlessly grips at an agiel in its holster. "It makes it . . ."

When she pauses, sighing in her inability to come to terms with obviously confounding emotions that she wishes to suppress, I offer my guess at what she cannot say.

"It makes you unable to deny that you feel something for me?" I propose, much braver than I ought to be, much more daring than I should allow.

She offers no answer, her head hung low so that I can't see her face for the curtain of blonde hair hiding her away.

"I'm Mord-Sith," she eventually says, as if the words alone can stop her feeling. As if saying it out loud will convince me that she's nothing but the leather on her back and the years of pain she's endured, and that her relationship with Garen had never happened.

There is more to Cara than even she knows. More to the Mord-Sith. I see it more and more. I see it now as I step towards her and her body tenses, as if ready to be struck, to be punished for her heart's betrayal.

"You can no more fight this than I can," I insist. "And I _will_ have to tell Richard eventually. I can't live a lie with him; it would cost more than you know."

The pain that jabs at my heart just imagining that conversation makes me swallow hard, fighting back tears. I feel pulled, ripped in two; half of me wishing to stay loyal to my Seeker, to continue to love him for the comfort he gives me. The other half of me aching to hold Cara, to know her touch, her kiss, her soul, completely.

I'm unable to suppress the faint sob that bubbles up inside me, the salt of my own tears now coating my lips.

Weeks of suppressed emotion wells up inside me, spilling free, engulfing me. I feel my knees go weak and I drop to the floor, a trembling mess of woe. All my own making.

I should have fought harder. I should have loved Richard the way that I was meant to.

To fall in love with a Mord-Sith who doesn't want to feel, doesn't want to betray what she is, is a mistake I don't think I will ever fully forgive myself for. But she moves me in ways that make me forget I'm the Mother Confessor, last of my kind, sworn to protect the world from the very woman before me. The woman I can no longer be satisfied just to one day call a friend.

I want more than is possible, and more than I can have.

Feeling empty of magic, of hope, of sanity, I hold my hands over my face and let the tears come unbidden.

TBC…


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

"Kahlan?" I hear, somewhere in the distance, far from the dark around me. "Kahlan, are you ok?"

"Kahlan," another voice presses, closer, softer. "You're worrying Richard."

I scrunch up my brow, unable to comprehend why I'm worrying anybody, but then I hear it, the deep sobs rolling from my own chest. I sound heartbroken.

"Just answer him," Cara tells me. "Before he hurts himself trying to break the door down."

Nodding, taking in difficult breaths in order to calm myself I pull my hands away from my face, calling out.

"I'm ok, Richard," I shout, wincing as my throat protests.

"You don't sound ok," he quite correctly points out. "What happened?"

I look up then, into Cara's alarmed face. She's on her haunches in front of me, appearing quite unsure of what she should do. A gentle hand on my shoulder squeezes and I can't stop the fresh flow of tears at the sight of Cara's obvious concern. If it were anybody else I would say there was something more than just concern in her eyes, but I have to stop hoping for more than she's probably able to give. Even if it's there inside her, I can't allow myself to be so conceited to think I can force her to acknowledge it.

"Nothing happened, I'm just feeling . . ." I falter, unsure how to explain myself.

"It's the loss of her magic," Cara informs him as she looks into my already swollen eyes. "It's making her upset."

I'm so grateful for her quick thinking that I lift my hand to the one on my shoulder and squeeze it in gratitude. She quickly pulls hers away, though she stays in front of me on the floor.

The silence that follows clearly indicates that Richard has no idea what to say, how to comfort me. He still doesn't understand just how Confessor magic works. How much it's a part of me, making me whole.

I suppose that Cara's lie to Richard probably isn't completely a lie at all; the loss of my magic is indeed playing havoc with my emotions, and though I can't blame this state I'm in entirely on its absence, it certainly isn't helping.

"We'll be out of here soon," Richard offers in a feeble attempt to make me feel better.

It's not his fault that his words can't help and that he's unable to understand why I'm crying. I certainly can't tell him the truth from behind two locked downs and an undetermined length of corridor. The truth will have to wait.

"I know," I shout to him. "I feel better now."

Rubbing my hands across my face to wipe the tears away and steady my breathing, I smile softly at Cara, hoping to ease the frown still creasing her brow.

"I'm still worried," Richard grumbles. "Please take care of her, Cara."

Cara winces, as if he'd just asked her to do the most impossible thing in the world. I know her reaction is more a case of wanting to take care of me than not, however. The problem is, she wants it more every day and I can see clearly now that it's difficult for her to understand such a need. She isn't meant to care about a Confessor. She isn't meant to care at all.

"Honestly, I'll be ok, Richard," I assure, getting up from my knees, feeling a little silly about all the tears.

As I rise up and brush dust from my skirt Cara hovers close by, seeming caught between wanting to help and needing to keep her hands off me. To be truthful, I'm not sure which one I want right now either. Though I know if it weren't for Richard the choice would be much easier to make and I'd encourage her to explore what it is she feels, open up to me and what we could possibly have together. Even knowing that Richard is only one of the problems standing in our way.

"Ok, but . . . if you need anything . . ." Richard shouts, his gentle voice sounding lost through the bricks between us.

"We'll be fine," Cara snaps, growing tired of this blatant show of emotion, of the weakness as she calls it.

Her gaze is boring in to me, willing me to pull myself together and stop this nonsense.

"I'm sorry," I mumble, hardly able to look Cara in the eye. "Everything just got on top of me."

She nods, her jaw clenching.

"You should rest," she states, doing her best not to let a single emotion push past the barrier now around her. "We will need to be alert in the morning."

It's my turn to nod as I glance towards the small window, noticing the clouds nudging up against the moon. It looks like it might rain for the first time in over a week. The air is still thick and humid, however, clinging to my skin.

Without saying another word I make my way into the small privy, pushing the door closed as far as it will go. Splashing water over my face, I do my best to remember that I'm the Mother Confessor, not just some girl who's foolishly in love for the first time. I should know better than to allow my heart to lead me, to make me fall apart. Though what I feel for Cara is already consuming me, I have to put things in perspective. There is more at stake in all this than just my heart.

I have to take charge of this. Regain some semblance of control.

I refuse to insist any longer that I can ignore how much I want to be more to Cara than I am, and I refuse to believe that Cara can just push aside what she feels; we've acknowledged what we want, and now we have to deal with that. Things will not be the same, and I can't let this situation destroy everything around us. I have to stand by what's in my heart and hope that Richard will understand, hope that Zedd will guide him past his anger, and hope that Cara will dare to allow me to love her despite all of our differences.

My mind is set; once I tell Richard that I can no longer be to him what he wants me to be I intend to make Cara see that I'm worth the effort she will have to make to understand her feelings. I can't let this slip through my fingers.

I wash the day's sweat from my body, feeling stronger, resolute. Love is not an evil thing to be feared. It may complicate matters – and it certainly has in this instance – but it's pure, uncompromising.

Leaving the privy feeling much better, and much more refreshed, I make my way over to the bed, only offering Cara a small glance. I smile softly, thankful that she also seems a little more relaxed. The laces of her boots are already loose, her agiels on the chair next to her gloves. For a moment I'm entranced by Cara's hands, recalling last night and the hand that held mine against her in such a gentle yet assertive way. The warmth and the softness of her skin will be forever burned into my mind. I want more of it, and more of her.

I say nothing as I sit on the bed, placing my boots down beside it. I saw no reason to put them back on after I washed. My skirt is still loose so I hastily begin to remove it, feeling Cara's gaze on me. I don't raise my eyes, allowing her the chance to look at me without me making her uncomfortable. I won't push her; I'll just be here, ready for when she can no longer fool herself into believing that we can't have more. We seem to be destined for something other than just friendship, and I know that she can see it too; she just has to believe she deserves it.

"I need to wash," Cara announces. "Will you be ok?"

My heart melts a little at the unusual question and the way her voice seemed entirely awkward for asking it. Little by little she's breaking. For me.

"I'll be fine, Cara," I assure, hoping she can see that and so much more in my eyes. "I think I just need to sleep."

Cara gives an understanding nod.

"You should take the bed tonight. I can rest on the floor," she informs me.

It would obviously be much safer that way, but I'm not about to let her run so quickly. I'm also not about to rush into anything with her before I've had the chance to talk with Richard so she really has nothing to fear, despite the small slip last night.

"Don't be absurd, Cara," I say frankly. "We can share the bed again. You don't have to worry, I won't touch you."

She narrows her eyes at this, cocking her head a little, a small frown completing the almost amusing look she's giving me.

"It's not you I'm worried about, Kahlan," Cara says quietly, an almost seductive burr to her voice making me shiver regardless of the warm air. "If I have to lay next to you again I . . . I'm not sure I could stop myself."

"Stop yourself from what?" I ask, knowing I shouldn't. Knowing the answer already as I grip the blanket at my fingertips.

My heart is beginning to pound in my chest as Cara's gaze drops to the top of my corset, where my breasts are somewhat spilling from it due to the loosened ties.

"I want to fuck you, Kahlan," she answers, softly so that Richard won't hear, though the coarseness - the crassness - is a testament to how badly she wishes to hide behind the solid structures of her Mord-Sith walls.

Still, the words make my insides quiver with need and I cannot halt the way I grow wet at the thought of her taking me the way I know she probably would. Purposely, I regard her with curiosity rather than the shock she would have expected. Cara continues, obviously in the hope I will decide that she has no interest in me other than using my body for pleasure. She's very wrong if she thinks she can fool me in such a way.

"You have no idea how difficult it is for me, to know that here, in this place . . . you can't confess me," Cara explains, her nostrils flaring as she allows desire to rule her tongue. "If I lay next to you tonight my body will want yours, my hands will want to touch, my lips to taste."

The bed creaks as I shift upon it, attempting to ease the growing ache between my thighs.

"Maybe I shouldn't have asked," I confess, the heat prickling my skin, making me increasingly uncomfortable.

"You shouldn't have," Cara agrees, irritation evident in her tone. "No good will come of knowing how much I want you. It doesn't change anything."

She seems desperate to dismiss this. To fool the both of us, or scare the both of us.

"Everything _has_ already changed, Cara," I say, wishing to stand, but very aware that my skirt is resting over the top of my thighs and would drop to the floor if I did so. "We can't take back the words we've said, or the things we know. I've been confused, frightened of the things I've been thinking, but I know now that it's pointless trying to convince myself that what I feel is wrong."

"It _is_ wrong, Kahlan," Cara says unconvincingly. "What I feel is wrong."

A small admission, a glimpse into what must be churning inside Cara, I forget my modesty and stand before her in the now scant moonlight pooling at our feet. In my briefs and corset I must make quite the sight, but Cara's gaze never leaves mine as I step closer.

"It isn't wrong," I insist, wanting to reach out and touch Cara's face, to know the delicate sensation of her skin on my fingertips. But any such reassuring touch would do quite the opposite of reassure Cara. "We're obviously drawn to each other, and despite the difficulty in that, despite the things that stand in the way, the things we've said and done in the past . . . fighting it will only bring more pain, to everyone involved."

"I can handle pain," Cara says defiantly.

I know she's aware that her claim makes no sense in this instance. She can indeed handle pain of a physical nature, and most likely all the possible mental torture that Mord-Sith can impart on one another, but this is quite different and I can already see that it's beginning to take its toll. I've never seen her look so vulnerable.

"I know you can," I accept with a tender smile, "but I don't mean physical pain."

Cara glances away, biting her tongue. I can see that she wants to deny once again that she has emotions, especially for me, but the fact she says nothing makes my stomach flutter and roll. Her walls are slipping.

"Cara, look at me," I ask, thankful when she does so without putting up a fight.

Her gaze flits from my eyes to my lips, causing me to wet them slowly. I know she wants to kiss me as much as I want to kiss her, but unless I make the first move she'll refuse to give in. I can see the determination in her eyes and though I have to commend her for her strength and her loyalty, I also wish she'd just surrender, take what she wants. If she did that then I wouldn't have to hold back either, be the sensible one, wait until we've told Richard.

"I'm always looking at you," Cara confesses quietly. "It's difficult not to."

I feel my cheeks flush a little and suddenly feel very awkward standing in front of Cara in nothing but my corset and underwear. But that's not because I don't want her to look at me, I'm just not used to hearing people speak that way to me. People rarely approach Confessors and tell them that they're attracted to them. Confessors are to be feared. We're regarded as untouchable.

"I know the feeling," I respond, allowing my gaze to drift to Cara's cleavage without concern of the repercussions. She must know by now that I just can't help myself.

I warm at the knowing grin that graces Cara's lips and blush just a little more. She tilts her head, studying me now with her intense green eyes.

"I told you before . . . when you look at me like that I can barely keep my hands off you," Cara says, desire evident in her voice. "You need to stop."

"I won't," I challenge.

Cara's breathing increases, her jaw tightening. It almost appears like she might hit me any moment, but I don't fear her. I do see fear in her eyes, however. She's afraid of this and it's completely confounding her.

"You have to," she finally counters, all the fight leaving her as she looks to the floor between us, dejected.

I give her some respite, backing away, done with pushing for now.

"Go get washed up, Cara," I tell her soothingly. "We both need to rest."

With one last glance at me she turns and heads for the privy, her usual swagger somewhat tempered.

Breathing a sigh, my body uncurling from the strain of holding back, I walk over to the bed, crawling under the thin blanket. Instantly I feel too hot, uncomfortable, and as I listen to water splashing in the small room a few paces away, I quickly wriggle out of my corset.

I place it with my other things at the side of the bed and shuffle up to the wall, waiting for Cara's return. Wondering if I should turn away before she comes back, or feign confidence and remain on my back, I do my best not to imagine Cara washing herself. The thought of watching beads of water roll down her firm body makes me squirm, my nipples hardening against the coarse material of the blanket. Tonight is going to be fraught with tension, temptation, and discomfort, even more so than any other night.

Cara is still dressed when she returns, but I can see that she put on her leathers again after washing herself as the ties are loose and her skin still appears damp across her chest. She has also wiped at the wound on her head, its angry redness a stark contrast to the paleness of her skin. I wince, knowing that it must hurt, though for a Mord-Sith it's probably nothing but a scratch.

"We need to get that seen to as soon as we can tomorrow," I point out, forgetting about everything else for the moment, the covers slipping from my upper body as I turn towards Cara, indicating her forehead with a wave of my hand.

She automatically raises her own hand to the cut, brushing some hair away from it as her lips part and I notice her eyes grow wide.

"Kahlan, your . . ." She points to my chest, sounding quite distressed.

With an apologetic smile I pull the blanket back up, covering myself as I watch a multitude of emotions play across Cara's face.

"Sorry," I mumble unconvincingly.

"That isn't fair," Cara complains.

I'm not sure if she's angry or on the verge of tears. It would almost be comical if it weren't for the seriousness of the situation we've found ourselves in.

"I'm no more unclothed than you were last night," I reason. "That was just as unfair, especially when you . . ."

I bite back the words, unable to utter them, unable to say that she'd pleasured herself right beside me even though I had been the one telling her to do it. Even after willing her to come as I closed the distance between us.

"Especially when I came when you told me to?" Cara deduces easily. "That was a mistake. I should never have done that." Unconvincing.

"I apologise for pushing you to do it, but I was just trying to help," I offer truthfully.

I look down at the blanket, running my fingers over a fold at my waist, enjoying the subtlest of breezes tickling over my bare shoulders.

"You really are beautiful," Cara says softly.

A small gasp catches in my throat and I look back up at Cara, feeling what she's feeling as everything she wants to hide shimmers in the green of her eyes, unobstructed. Beauty for the Mord-Sith is blood, pain, torture, so calling _me_ beautiful is utterly surprising and certainly not an admission I would ever have expected from Cara. But it's the way she spoke the words that has my heart fluttering.

I'm not sure what to say; whether I should thank her, or pretend that her tender declaration didn't just make me fall in love with her that much more.

"Don't say anything," Cara states before I decide. "I know I'm not making any sense, telling you one thing, doing another."

I nod, allowing her to hopefully explain what might be going through her head.

"This is hard for me, Kahlan," she acknowledges. "You're the Mother Confessor, and I was one of Darken Rahl's favourite Mord-Sith. The things I've done . . ." She sighs. "We're complete opposites and this goes against everything I am. I'm trying to understand myself, but you have to give me time."

It's a plea and I feel instantly protective of Cara's feelings, even though I'm the one who wants her to explore them.

"Of course," I agree. "We both need time."

Cara seems instantly relieved and she relaxes, shrugging out of her leathers as I make a point of looking away. As much as I want to watch her undress, I won't punish myself in such a way – seeing, but unable to have. Unable yet, at least.

Crawling into the bed beside me, Cara does her best not to touch me or brush against me in any way. I'm not really sure if I'm happy or sad about it, but for now I guess I have to accept that we certainly won't be taking advantage of the anti-magic spell this building is under. It's such a shame that even though I would be unable to confess Cara right now, neither of us think it's the right time for us to consummate this obvious, undeniable attraction we have for one another.

"I think I can sleep tonight without pleasuring myself," Cara states without a hint of embarrassment.

I fight back my own embarrassment, and my disappointment.

"Ok," I murmur, fiddling with the sheet so that it covers me, though I already feel far too warm.

Lying on my back, I close my eyes, ignoring as best I can Cara's naked skin so close to mine as she lies facing me. I want to turn and wrap my arms around her, pull her even closer and feel how soft she is, feel every curve, every twitching muscle. Once again thoughts of last night flood my mind and I squeeze my eyes closed even tighter, willing myself to think of something else.

"Don't think about it, Kahlan," Cara advises, guessing my thoughts.

"I'm trying," I respond, doing my best instead to think about what we will do tomorrow once we're free of this place – if all goes to plan.

"I can still lie on the floor if you'd prefer," she offers, her voice quiet, close to my ear.

I know I should probably accept her offer; being this close is maddening. I can feel the heat of her, I can smell her skin, each breath she takes tickling over my shoulder. As much as it's all driving me crazy with want I'd still rather have her here beside me than not. We won't have this luxury when we're back with Richard and Zedd.

"No," I reply. "I like you being next to me."

I turn my head and catch the faint smile on Cara's lips. It quickly fades, replaced by a sadness that makes my heart hurt and my head ache. Turning to face Cara, I lift my hand without thinking - an instinct – and trail my fingers over her brow, down across her temple.

Her skin is so soft, her gaze never leaving mine as I fall deep into the green of her eyes. I can't find words to describe her beauty, her magnificence. She is perfect.

Cara's gaze drifts to my mouth and I shudder, amazed by the way it almost feels like she's touching me there, her lips on mine. There is very little distance between us, and if I were to lean just a small amount towards Cara I would know what it felt like to be pressed against that delicious mouth. I want to kiss her so much it hurts. Every inch of me feels alive, desperate for her, taut and eager to allow her to take me into her arms and show me what it is to be hers.

We linger on the verge, on the edge of what we desire, but Cara finds some strength from deep within and moves back slightly, enough for us both to breathe.

She places her hand over mine at her cheek, no reproach in her eyes as she lifts it away and puts it between us on the mattress. I almost apologise for touching her, but it feels unnecessary as she keeps her hand on top of mine, resting it there on the bed.

"We should sleep," she whispers, yearning making her voice breathy, which causes me to take my own shuddering breath. "Believe me when I say I wish to do much more than sleep, Kahlan, but . . ."

"We can't," I continue for her sullenly.

For a moment, nothing more than enough time for me to blink, it seems as if she might forget herself and just kiss me, but then her eyes close and we both remain loyal to Richard.

Once I inform him that I can no longer be what he wants me to be there will be no need for this forced reserve between Cara and I. No need to fight the physical attraction or deny ourselves the closeness we obviously both crave.

All that will be standing in our way will be my guilt, and Cara's insistence that she can't feel.

I try not to allow my thoughts to darken with such worries and close my eyes to sleep, smiling as Cara gives my hand a gentle squeeze before turning from me to find her own respite in slumber.

Silently I ask the Spirits that tomorrow will be full of promise and possibility, not only pain and confusion.

TBC…


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

As if my dreams were trying to help me attain more than I'm able whilst awake, I open my eyes to the early morning sun to discover that I'm quite comfortably pressed to Cara's side with my head resting on her shoulder.

I keep as still as I can as I get my bearings, noting the arm Cara has around my back and the way she's just allowing me to half sprawl on her as if this is completely normal for us. My leg is thrown over the top of Cara's, my arm around her, holding her to me. The warm skin under my palm entices and I move my hand just a fraction, feeling ribs beneath smooth muscle at her side.

Cara's breathing remains quiet, steady. I lay and enjoy everything about being this close to her, indulging in a way I know I probably shouldn't. In a way she wouldn't allow any other time. She'll wake and be terribly mad at me for this, but for now I can't bring myself to move. Cara does also have her hand on my lower back, keeping me in place, so it isn't as though this is entirely my fault.

How we came to be in this position I'm unsure, but I won't lie to myself and say I'm unhappy about it. How can I be unhappy when I'm pressed against the woman I think I'm in love with? I can't be.

I rub my cheek against Cara's shoulder, just because I can, and take in the scent of her – perspiration and soap, and a hint of leather. It's warm in this room and her skin is hot, a little sticky where I'm against her. It doesn't bother me at all, to have Cara this close while she's somewhat slicked with sweat. I feel the slight dampness to my own skin and know I must be in the same state as her, but I wouldn't change this moment for anything.

My breasts are crushed up against Cara's side, nipples hardening as I enjoy the way she breathes steadily, chest rising and falling and creating a subtle friction. I want to rub myself against her, feel her everywhere, to the very core of me, but I keep still. This temptation is almost too much to bear; my insides are burning with want. I've never felt the incessant tug of passion in this way before, only with Cara. As if her skin is an aphrodisiac that could rival the liver of a Shadrin, it tempts me to touch, to know.

In this quiet room, alone with Cara - the dark corners still in shadow as the sunlight takes its time filling the small space - we could explore each other the way we want to. We could unfold this desire, inspect it, luxuriate in it. But we won't. I won't take her loyalty from her, and she won't take my consideration for Richard. Still, her body so close to mine is too much, too real, a sensation I wish to drown in.

I watch Cara's face, enjoying how restful she appears, though there is a small crinkle in her brow that I feel instantly guilty about. If I hadn't acknowledged this then we could have continued as before; ignoring, pretending. But there is no pretending now.

Moving my leg a little, my inner thigh brushing against Cara's briefs, I barely contain a sigh. The desire to arch into Cara to gain more of her against me is maddening. I'm already growing wet between my legs, my muscles tightening and threatening to tremble.

The small movement causes Cara's breathing to stutter and a soft groan escapes her. Fingertips press into my back and I know the instant she wakes as her body stiffens and her eyelids begin to flutter open. She opens her eyes only for a moment before squeezing them shut tight once again in frustration.

"Kahlan, your thigh . . ." she mumbles, her voice thick from sleep.

I'm confused at first but then I realise what it is that's making her rigid beside me. My thigh is resting against her in an intimate way, betraying my resolve not to tempt us both beyond reason. I shift it slightly, slowly, but the movement only causes Cara to groan once again.

Caught between wanting to press harder against her and giving her the reprieve she needs and moving off her, I wait, my head pounding with possibility. Her other hand is suddenly on my leg, holding me there as she breathes deeply, trying to control herself. I know exactly what she wants to do. She wants friction, pressure. She wants me harder against her where she needs it most, and I wish to give her that so badly it scares me.

"You need to move," Cara grinds out, exasperated. "But I don't want you to."

Her hips move almost imperceptibly, bringing her closer to my leg, nudging up against it. I feel the cotton of her briefs more fully at the sensitive skin of my inner thigh and it's my turn to groan, to gasp as I swear I feel a dampness that rivals my own.

I slip my leg down a little, moving it between Cara's thighs more fully. A dangerous move. A treachery of what we've agreed.

"Kahlan," Cara breathes lustily, her lips parting as she brushes against me once more with a small roll of her hips.

I definitely feel her arousal this time, slicking my thigh a little through her thin panties as she holds my leg much closer with her hand. Her short fingernails dig into my back and I feel a rush of something entirely primal coarse through me. Without further thought I lift myself above Cara, pushing my thigh further into her, causing Cara to grab at my hips and hold me where she needs me as I place my hands either side of her shoulders. The heat between Cara's legs is delicious and I take a moment just to take pleasure in that, and in the moist evidence of how much she wants this.

Her eyes open, stealing my breath with their beauty, with the lust I see within them. The deep desire to claim her lips with mine bursts inside my chest, shocking me with its intensity. I want everything, her lips, her body, her. I want it all, now, with no guilt, no fear. But a shadow crosses Cara's eyes and I know this is wrong. No matter how physically right it feels.

I remove the pressure of my leg against her slightly and we both tremble at the loss. My stomach is against Cara's and I can feel every quick breath she's taking. I feel the muscles there twitch against mine, the sweat, slick, heat. My breasts are almost touching Cara's and I glance down between us, battling with myself.

"I'm sorry," I murmur, though my eyes feast on every inch of her I can see.

"I know," Cara accepts, the tenderness I hear in her voice making me wish for a different world in which we can just be two women, not the Mother Confessor. Not a Mord-Sith.

I feel one of Cara's hands move from my hip, raising and resting on my cheek as she pulls my gaze back to hers.

"I do want this," she whispers, her fingertips brushing against my jaw.

The truth is right there in her eyes, telling me everything she doesn't think she can about how much she does truly want this and more. How much she feels for me already, despite her determination to deny that Mord-Sith are capable of such emotions.

I nod, knowing that though we both want it, it doesn't make this an easy or simple decision.

"But we have to be sure," she continues, regardless of the fact we both know we're sure. "We have to . . ."

We have to wait. We have to abide by what we are. I can't deceive the Seeker, and she can't deceive her Lord Rahl, and we have to keep reminding each other of that, for now.

"You just feel so good against me," I mumble, sighing.

"Believe me, I would take you right now if it weren't for Richard," Cara confesses uneasily, the hand at my hip gripping me a little tighter. I drop my forehead to her shoulder, groaning as it creates even more contact between us, my breasts resting below Cara's. "I need to taste you. I need to be inside you," she says into my ear.

I shudder and feel a deep throb between my legs, arousal flooding my underwear at Cara's words.

"Don't . . ." I groan. "Don't say things like that."

The urge to move against Cara, to rub myself over the firm muscle of the thigh between my own, to come apart on top of her, makes me want to cry out. So close to just giving in I grunt as if in pain, then forcibly push myself off Cara. Flopping down next to her on the bed I ball my hands into fists and try to will away the desperate urges that are clawing at me inside and out.

"I _want_ you inside me," I whine. "I want you filling me. Fucking me."

Lewd though the words are from my lips they are the truth. The utter and complete truth. I've never thought of saying such bawdy things before, let alone doing them, but my body is Cara's for the taking.

Cara growls in frustration and rips herself from the bed beside me, standing in almost all her naked glory with her back to me. I gasp as she turns, her gaze drilling into mine.

"We need to stop talking this way, Mother Confessor," she rasps, the use of my title clearly admonishing both of us.

Trying not to just stare at Cara's body as she stands proud before me, I concentrate on her face as best I can, sitting up in the bed. There are so many things I want to say, need to say, but finding it hard to focus after being so close to Cara - and with her body practically on complete show to me - I stutter and fumble for words ineffectively.

Cara tilts her head to the side, a defiant grin drifting over her face as she notices my predicament.

"I should probably dress," she says, her eyes soft, making my heart jump.

"In other circumstances I would encourage you to stay just as you are, but if we're to refrain from anything . . . physical, then yes, please dress," I implore, still counting the freckles that are scattered over Cara's chest.

She truly is magnificent.

With a nod, Cara grabs her leathers and begins to pull them on. I watch her fingers work, her arms, her back, muscles flexing with every movement. When she flicks her hair out from where it was briefly caught beneath her collar I groan and close my eyes, flopping back onto the bed, covering my face with my hands.

"You should also dress," Cara states, ignoring my small meltdown. "Garen could be here any time now."

Feeling a little self-conscious, I sit on the edge of the bed with the blanket around me, noticing the naked appraisal in Cara's eyes. Suddenly much more bashful than I was mere moments before, I hold the blanket to me as I reach for my clothes. Cara gives me one last intense look before heading for the toilet.

I quickly put my clothes on, very aware of how damp my underwear feels. I'll be glad to get out of here so I can retrieve my pack and the clean briefs I know that are in it. I need to do laundry as soon as possible.

It doesn't take long for us both to be ready, waiting for possible freedom with the help of the Mord-Sith that came the previous morning. We can only hope that nothing has happened to her, or her plans to break us out of this prison we've found ourselves in. We say nothing more of our want for each other, instead concentrating on the door and any sounds beyond, remaining silent in our contemplation.

As the sun begins to rise slowly, finally we here the slide of a bolt down the corridor. The sounds are muted, as if somebody is trying their best to be quiet. I look to Cara and she nods, thinking the same thing as I am no doubt; this has to be Garen.

Readying ourselves in case we have a visitor of another kind, we grasp our weapons and keep alert, prepared to strike as one.

"It's me," a low voice calls from the other side of the door as Garen slides across the hatch within it so she can see into our small room. "We need to hurry."

A soft jangle of keys, and before either Cara or I can say anything the door slowly opens.

I feel my heart begin to race, knowing we must rush yet remain calm and quiet. Garen – dressed once again as a lowly servant - beckons us forward into the corridor. I glance back at the room, at the bed in the corner, and shudder. Not only because we've been captive here, but also because of what has happened between Cara and I in that short time. What could have happened.

Cara seems to do the same before we catch each other's eye, holding still for a moment before we follow Garen into the dark hallway. Instantly I can see that there is a torch at either end of the short corridor, but only one door to our left that appears to be the exit.

"We need to free the Lord Rahl," Cara reminds Garen as the tall Mord-Sith begins to head for the exit.

"_Your_ Lord Rahl," Garen insists with a scowl.

"Just free him, or I will," Cara presses, stepping closer to Garen; managing to intimidate her even though Cara is quite a bit shorter.

With a curt nod Garen moves quickly to another closed door beyond our own.

"Stay here," Garen instructs me. "Listen for anybody coming."

I move closer to the exit and stay as alert as I can as I watch Cara remain close to Garen. There is a slight prickle of jealousy inside me as I recall what Cara told me about them. What little she told me anyway. I shrug it off and concentrate; now is not the time to think about such things.

There is a bit confusion at first when Garen opens the door to Richard and Zedd's cell, but Cara explains briefly, and encourages Richard to ask further questions later. I see his soft eyes in the flickering light as he emerges, his gaze searching for me, his lips smiling - despite the situation - when he sees me.

Giving a small smile back I wait for them all to reach me at the exit and with no further fuss Garen proceeds to open it and usher us through.

"Won't we be seen?" Richard questions, pushing towards Garen with his hand firmly wrapped around the hilt of his sword.

"Not if we're careful, and quiet," Garen lightly reprimands.

Richard lowers his eyes and accepts that he must follow this woman's lead for now, just as we all must. To be fair, he has no reason to trust her. The fact that Cara seems to trust her without question eases my mine somewhat, but I'm still on edge, ready for any possibility.

"This way," Garen whispers as we creep along a barely lit corridor, heading away from the lighter areas where the guards must be.

I can't quite believe they would be so lax as to allow all of us to be spirited away so easily, but obviously they are otherwise occupied.

"We will reach the stables in a few moments, but if we're not careful, this will be the last time you'll see freedom," Garen warns. "Up ahead is the kitchen. We know other people who work there, but we must still be wary."

We all nod and Cara drops back, waiting for us all to pass before she takes up the rear, her eyes darting this way and that, the rigid set of her jaw making her appear completely focused. I turn my attention back to Garen, watching as she pushes a large door open just enough to peek through.

"Kahlan, this could be a trap," Richard mutters under his breath.

"We have no other option, Richard. Follow her," I say, a little more curt than was probably necessary.

He gives me a wounded look, but follows nonetheless.

When Garen sees that the coast must be clear she heads through, indicating for us to continue with her. A few empty rooms later and we emerge out into the stables, the strong scent of horses and hay assaulting us.

"I have cloaks for you, and you may take your bags, but the horses have to stay," Garen informs us. "We will slip past the gate guards only if you remain silent, and keep your eyes to the floor."

"Won't they question who we are?" Cara asks before Richard has the chance.

"You will appear like any other of the townsfolk if you keep the cloaks tight around you," Garen replies. "The gate guards are generally not the brightest creatures."

"It seems a little too easy," Richard says, standing close to me. "What if we're caught?"

"We won't be," Garen assures. "Just do as I say."

"We will," I guarantee before Richard can say anything further.

He can't help needing to know more, to be aware of all the possibilities. He is the Seeker after all.

She pulls a bag from the corner of the stable, handing us all large cloaks with hoods for us to hide ourselves beneath. Richard has the most trouble, attempting to cover the Sword of Truth. With a few adjustments we all seem to have managed to hide our identities, however, and with our packs over our shoulders, we prepare to leave this awful place.

"Try not to stand out," Garen says with a glare. "If you're noticed, run, and I will do my best to see that you escape."

"Why?" Richard asks, causing us all to turn and stare at him. "Why are you helping us? Who are you?"

I suppose his natural need to know the motives of people could only be held at bay for so long.

With a sigh Garen rolls her eyes, reminding me of the way Cara always seems to do the same thing when Richard exasperates her.

"I'm Mord-Sith," she says curtly. "I came to rescue Cara, but it seems she's softened beyond all recognition these days and insisted that I also rescue her 'friends'."

A gruff chuckle makes us all look to Zedd as he stands with a wry smile on his lips.

"Softened you say?" he grunts.

Richard also chuckles, but obviously neither of them are aware of just how much Cara _has_ changed. Garen can see it, and I've noticed the change and found myself more drawn to Cara because of it. But I say nothing to Richard or Zedd, instead just shaking my head.

"Shouldn't we be hurrying?" I ask with a sigh.

"Come," Garen instructs, agreeing.

I give my horse a soft rub on the nose before turning to follow the others as we leave him and the stable behind. Cara steps behind me, pulling her hood up over her head. I follow her example and tuck my hair away into my cloak. I feel her hand at my lower back as the others move on ahead.

"I think we can trust Garen to get us to safety," she says in a low whisper. "But anything after that . . . I might doubt her motives. We should remain cautious."

"Ok," I respond.

I lay my hand on Cara's arm and give it a small squeeze, noting that she doesn't pull away. In the past she has vehemently shied away from any contact. I'll have to remember not to reach out and touch her in such a way in Richard's presence, as he would surely notice the difference. As stubbornly obtuse as he can often be, he is sometimes remarkable perceptive. It wouldn't do to pique his suspicions before I've had the chance to talk with him.

"Now let us leave this rotten hole of a town," Cara says, instructing me to go before her. "But remind me to come back at a later time so I can slowly torture some of those less than respectful guards to death."

"Gladly," I reply, knowing I would do no such thing as remind her to come back, regardless of how much they probably deserve it. I would rather have them put on trial and pay for their crimes my way, by confession.

We catch up quickly with Garen and are soon lost amongst the townsfolk, acting as if nothing is out of the ordinary. Luckily the rain has come today, making the need for hooded cloaks necessary, which means we're not drawing unwanted attention to ourselves.

Though we're all wary and cautious we get to the main gate without incident quicker than I would have expected. Garen appears confident that nothing will thwart our attempts to leave, and as we reach the gate with a few other townsfolk – one with a horse and carriage – we're permitted through without question. They're clearly more concerned about who enters their town rather than who leaves, and no doubt the gate guards are not privy to who should be residing in their cells.

Once we're clear of the gate and walking along the main road heading away from the town I breathe a sigh of relief.

"Don't let your guard down yet, Confessor," Garen warns, her dark eyes narrowing at me as I push the hood out of my face a little way. "As soon as they discover you're all gone, they will be out on these roads looking for you."

"Then we should head to the forest," I say, nodding to the distance and the thick green forest that lies not too far ahead of us.

"We are," she states brusquely. "Mistress Dominique is waiting ahead with horses for you."

Despite her harsh way of talking and the coldness in her eyes I give Garen a small smile of gratitude. After all, she didn't have to save us, especially when they were only really trying to help a fellow Mord-Sith. That she has gone to this trouble for Cara – who was accused of betrayal, pushed from her temple and left for dead – and for a Confessor, the Seeker, and a Wizard that she surely despises, tells me a lot about this woman. She has honour.

"Now less talking and more walking," Garen bristles, frowning at my smile. "Being caught now would be an embarrassment."

Cara shakes her head, a faint smile on her own lips as she looks between the two of us.

"Please tell me there will be a warm meal somewhere in this forest of yours," Zedd grumbles as we all trudge ahead into the rain, his cloak barely reaching his knees. "And some shelter."

"You can always sit here and wait for the guards to take you back to your nice, cosy cell," Cara teases.

"Not likely," Zedd says with a gush of air. "Sleeping with Richard's feet in my nose all night does nothing for an old man's mood."

I can't help but laugh, and Richard follows, much to the distaste of Garen who glares at us all and hurries us along.

"I should have left you all there to save me from this prattling," she gripes, though the way her eyes settle on Cara clearly suggests that she would never have left her in such a place.

Again I feel a sharp stab of jealousy, but it is tempered by the flicker of emotion I see in Garen's gaze. Indeed, it seems Mord-Sith can love, because that's what I see in her eyes directed at Cara, no matter how buried.

The knowledge fills me with hope as well as trepidation. I will cling to the hope.

TBC…


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

The rain is coming down heavily when we reach Mistress Dominique and the horses. She – unlike Garen – is dressed in brown leather, her hair tightly braided, a scowl on her face.

"You're late," she says briskly as Garen reaches her first.

"I got here as fast as I could," Garen counters, glancing back at us as if we're the biggest inconvenience she's ever dealt with in her entire life.

"I told you that should have rescued the Mord-Sith and left the others to rot," Dominique bites.

I feel Richard reach for the hilt of his sword beside me and Cara steps towards the other two Mord-Sith before they continue.

"We'll take the horses now," Cara states, ending the conversation, reaching for the reins of one of the tall steeds.

"Wait, you're . . ." Dominique looks Cara up and down. "We rescued _her_?" she asks Garen with a sneer. "Why?"

"She's Mord-Sith," Garen replies.

I feel the tension in the air as she glares at Dominique, daring her to question her decisions further.

"But she betrayed our Lord . . ."

"She's still Mord-Sith," Garen interrupts. "Now stop wasting further time."

Garen grabs the reins of another horse, leading it towards me. I can see that Dominique wishes to say more, to protest more, but Garen's back is towards her and her patience is clearly reaching breaking point.

I see the anger in her eyes, but then it is quickly replaced by a flicker of surprise before she pushes me aside, looking behind us from where we came.

"They're here already," she says. "Somebody must have seen us leave."

We all turn to see a mob of guards, swords aloft, quickly descending on us. Their horses are at full gallop, nostrils flared and steam lifting from their bodies and filling the air.

"We can take them," Richard quickly decides, seeing that we do not have time to mount our horses and run.

I look towards Cara who is already out of her cloak and pulling her agiels free, her lips curling into a sadistic smile as she feels the familiar pain rush up her arms from them. I suddenly worry that she might get hurt, but I know we've done this plenty of times. We've faced more than this and survived.

The sound of Richard's sword sliding from its sheath, and my daggers being tugged from my boots is joined by the grunts of horses and the shouts of men as the guards rattle towards us, dismounting quickly. They obviously have one goal; to kill us.

"Turn around and we'll let you live," Richard calls out to the first advancing guard.

The answer is nothing more than a gruff laugh as the guards run at us with fury in their eyes.

"Keep the horses safe," Garen yells to Dominique as she too pulls her agiel out of her pack and steps beside us, ready to fight.

With a clash of steel and the scream of agiels, we clatter against the guards. I use my daggers to deflect one of the guard's sword thrusts, quickly noticing that Zedd is lingering back, not using his magic. I deduce with annoyance that he's unwilling to release magic with two unfamiliar Mord-Sith so close. He doesn't want to risk them using the magic to control him. I ponder yelling to him to help, but the fight intensifies as the guard I'm battling with is joined by another.

Cara grunts not far behind me, digging her agiels into the weakest spots. She must have finished her foe because she's suddenly beside me, protecting me from a blow that might have been fatal. It gives me the opportunity to slide my dagger into the chest of the other guard, pushing deep until blood froths from his mouth with a gurgle and he drops heavily to the floor.

Grabbing the throat of the man Cara is pummelling, I push her aside and release my power into him, feeling it rush through me as I sink into the warmth of it, the completion. I was only a few days without my magic, but I missed it, I missed this rush.

Nobody can know what it's like to feel this powerful, this full of love, full of a quiet calmness that directly opposes the chaos of magic . . . unless they're a Confessor. It cannot be explained, described, understood. It fills me up, spilling out of me and engulfing whoever is in my grasp. To be without this is torture.

Cara stays back, shifting her attention to one of the already few remaining guards, and once confessed I order the man in my grip to fight for us. He turns his sword on his companions without question, striking out and killing one instantly. I take a deep breath, ignoring as best I can the shaking in my limbs after using my power, and move on to the next foe, daggers flashing in the rain as I whirl this way and that to avoid the lumbering strikes of his sword. They are mostly well trained but thankfully slow.

My next thrust ends the life of another guard. Making a quick turn I see Cara landing a kick to the head before she grabs the man's neck and twists. The crack rings out and she sneers, almost laughing as she pushes his limp body to the floor. This is a side to her I've seen much in battle; the true Mord-Sith that powers her, that lives in her veins. It's almost as beautiful as it is appalling.

I notice that the cut on her forehead is bleeding again, dribbling garish red into her eyes. My heart twists in my chest and I take a breath before I do something stupid like run over to her and fuss. That would never do; she would ignore me for days if I demeaned her in such a way, and of course, Richard would think me quite silly.

As I move towards the other two Mord-Sith I see that they are struggling against three very large guards, the men's shouts and accusations clearly conveying their hatred of Mord-Sith. Agiels scream out as they hit flesh but Dominique falls to the ground as her knee is shattered by a violent kick. My stomach turns and I run towards them at the same moment that Cara does.

We arrive too late as Dominique almost loses her head to a sharp blade and Garen – her attention flickering only a moment – takes a nasty slash at her side. She jumps just quickly enough to avoid the sword making its way through her entire body, but she stumbles to her knees.

"No!" Cara yells as she reaches the last two guards, her body a roar of anger and skill as she puts herself between them and Garen.

I add my daggers to her fight and we finish the last two guards as one, striking to their hearts until they scream their last.

Cara swiftly checks the slain Mord-Sith, shaking her head as she sees the deep cut to her throat. She will not be able to bring her back.

"Don't forget that one," Garen says, ignoring Dominique's lifeless body and pointing to the confessed guard as she pushes herself up from the floor.

"He's confessed," I respond, breathing heavily from the fierce fight, from the adrenaline still coursing through me.

Richard reaches us, his face a grimace as he sidesteps Dominique, Zedd following behind.

"Kill him," Garen insists.

"I will do no such thing," I protest, looking to Cara. "He's harmless now."

"Why do we need to kill him?" Richard asks, stepping close to me in support – though his closeness suddenly makes me itch.

Garen sighs as she inspects the cut in her linen shirt and the blood oozing from it, the crinkle in her brow showing that she's in pain even though she's doing her best to hide it. Cara does the same thing; as if cuts, blood and bruises are an everyday occurrence. Which I suppose they are in a Mord-Sith temple.

"If word gets back that he's the only guard left alive in this party," Garen says, nodding towards the littering of bodies before us, "then they'll send more. If he's dead, we have more time before another party comes searching."

I want to protest but I can't help but see the logic in what she says. Even if I send him in the opposite direction to the town his uniform makes him stand out in these parts, it could jeopardise our escape if more guards are sent for us too soon. But I can't just kill him; I already took everything he is.

My gaze finds Cara's despite Richard's soft hand on my arm indicating that he wishes for me to look to him for guidance.

Cara gives me a slight nod, agreeing with Garen it seems. I lower my eyes to the ground, my hand tight around the handle of my dagger. Confessing is different to killing, no matter the similarities – taking somebody's life. I falter, watching as the poor man looks to me with such devotion in his eyes.

"Command me, Mistress," he says eagerly when I finally lift my eyes to his.

"We need to hurry," Cara states gruffly as she stalks up beside me, grabs my dagger from my hand and plunges it into the chest of the confessed guard.

I gasp in a most ridiculous way, as if seeing somebody killed before me is something I've never witnessed before. Of course I've witnessed death, plenty of times, and at my own hand, I just . . . sometimes Cara's actions shock me.

"Now we can go," Cara says, pressing the dagger handle back into my hand.

The brief look into her eyes I'm granted lets me see that she didn't just kill the man in cold blood to hurry things along; she did it so that I didn't have to. I'm at once grateful and slightly irritated. Irritated that she didn't think I had it in me to do what is necessary. We will talk about that later, however, as the day is getting no younger and the rain no lighter. We need to find a safe place to hide.

My attention turns to the body of the Mord-Sith who I suppose is indeed far beyond the Breath of Life; her throat too severed to receive it.

"Should we take her with us?" I ask as Cara grabs the horses, easing one towards Richard.

He takes the reins once he sheathes his sword, his jaw tight and muscles tense. I can see that he isn't happy; annoyed that he's suddenly not the one fully in charge. Annoyed that Cara took a life without his input, without us deferring to him for alternatives. Thankfully he remains quiet for now as Garen bends down beside the fallen Mord-Sith, slipping the dead woman's agiel from its holster. She tucks it beside her own then closes Dominique's eyes, her touch gentle.

"I will have to leave her," Garen replies. "We were going to direct you to a trail through the forest and make our way back to the temple. One of the horses has bolted," she says, and I only just realise that we are indeed a horse short. We now only have three instead of four. "You take them, I'll walk back."

"You can't walk, you're injured," Richard says, pointing at the blood oozing steadily from Garen's side.

"All this chattering is taking too much time," Cara warns with a huff. "Garen, get on the horse," she instructs with a glare.

"But there isn't . . ."

"Now," Cara commands.

Garen opens her mouth to protest once more, but one look from Cara decides her fate and she allows Cara to help her up onto the horse's back with only a small grumble. I would chuckle if we weren't surrounded by dead bodies and the prospect of having to fight for our lives yet again.

I merely watch as Cara mounts the horse, sitting snugly behind Garen, ready for us to leave as soon as we can. Again, I feel jealousy. I feel an ache inside me as I wish it were me with Cara's body pressed so closely.

"Kahlan?" Richard questions, touching my lower back as he tries to catch my eye. "I asked if you were ready."

I blink, certain that I heard no such question.

"I'm ready," I answer anyway, shouldering my pack and allowing Richard to take my hand and help me – unnecessarily – onto a horse. "What about the bodies? We should burn them."

"I will, my dear," Zedd responds. "Just as soon as _she_ is far enough away from me."

He nods towards Garen, his bushy eyebrows pulled low in a scowl.

"_She_ is coming with us," Cara states in a tone that does not broach argument. "You can catch up."

With nothing further to add Cara digs her heels into the horse's flank and heads for the tree-line. Richard shrugs, his eyes looking a little bemused.

"Bah!" Zedd grumbles. "Uppity Mord-Sith."

I shake my head but allow him his grumbling as Richard grabs the saddle and tugs himself up onto the horse, sitting behind me.

We head after Cara into the forest, leaving Zedd to burn the bodies so they don't follow us as banelings. I know he'll be back with us in no time so I don't bother my mind with worry. We're soon weaving our way in and out of trees, Cara's horse just ahead, our pace quick enough to feel like we're making good time but not too quick for the horses as the forest becomes more dense with each step.

We suddenly reach a trial crossing us and Cara pulls her horse to a stop, turning to speak.

"We head right here," she says. "We'll move quicker now until we reach a smaller trail."

I notice that Garen's head has lolled forward a little, her eyelids heavy. She's still losing blood.

"Is she ok?" I ask, concerned.

"I'm fine," Garen answers with a hiss, loose dark hair slick to her head with a mixture of rain and sweat.

It's still drizzling, and though the trees are doing their utmost to spare us the worst, if we don't find shelter soon and tend to Garen's wound she could become very ill. I'm unsure how that would affect Cara. Bringing this Mord-Sith with us clearly indicates that she cares about her, at least in some way. She barely batted an eye when Dominique was killed, yet she rushed to Garen's aid the instant she was in trouble.

I notice how much Garen is leaning on Cara, and how Cara's arms are holding her up as she reaches around her to the horse's reins.

"How far?" I ask.

"No more than a candle mark," Cara answers.

They must have spoken whilst riding for Cara to know where we're headed and how long it will take.

I glance down once more at Garen's side and the slash in her shirt. If she had been wearing her leather she may have escaped the brunt of the blow, but her disguise failed to protect her in any such way. As blood drips from her onto her thigh I pull my pack from my back, rustling within it until I find what I'm looking for.

"Use this to stop the blood flow," I say, urging Richard to move our horse closer to Cara's.

"Kahlan," Richard mutters. "But that's your . . ."

"We don't have time to look for anything else and Zedd has the majority of our things with him; it's fine," I assure, offering my white Confessor dress for Cara to take.

She looks at it then up into my eyes, gratitude and . . . something else softening her face.

I nod, lifting the dress to her as she reaches out to take it. Garen grunts, and I suppose it's the closest I'll probably get to a thank you from her, but I see enough gratefulness in Cara's eyes to make do.

"We could find something else," Richard whispers behind me.

"No time, Richard," I remind. "It will wash."

Though I know I will just have to either scrub at the dress myself or have Zedd spell it clean, Richard is only looking out for my best interests, and he thinks he should defend my station as Mother Confessor even though he doesn't really understand what it means to be the Mother Confessor. It is just a dress. A person's life is worth more than that, even if they are a Mord-Sith. And Garen has proved she is somewhat less wicked than most of the Sisters of the Agiel by agreeing to help us as she has. She could have walked away, or refused to help anyone but Cara. I have to do my best not to judge her because of what she is, but who she is. I learned to do that with Cara.

Not that I believe Garen has the same strength of compassion deep within her as Cara has, but I still will not allow her to just bleed to death.

We start the horses forward once again, slowly as Cara helps Garen hold the white material at her side, putting pressure there to stem the flow of blood. Feeling Richard stiffen behind me, I turn as he does to see Zedd catching up with us as his horse eats up the dirt trail with its quick hooves.

We greet him with a smile and he gestures for us to continue.

"Everything is taken care of," he says. "I've even done a little to help cover our tracks."

With no further interruptions we head onward once again, deeper into the forest. As Cara said, we make good progress until we reach a smaller trail, hidden by thick branches. In single file we navigate through trees and foliage, the patter of rain still finding its way through the canopy to keep us all glistening with rainwater.

Just as I begin to feel quite miserable as my leather sticks to me and the horse's wet skin chafes at me, we slow to a stop, Cara's horse at the front.

"There's shelter that way," Cara indicates with her head.

"Are we far enough away from the town?" Richard wonders aloud, his body both hot and cold at my back, making my dress even damper with his closeness.

"Yes," Garen answers weakly, not bothering to lift her head.

I see that blood has seeped onto my dress at her wound, and her skin is deathly pale.

"Then we should stop," I say.

Cara's eyes meet mine before she takes us down a small hill towards what looks like a cave as the forest breaks out into some rocks; a stream bubbles and flows not far from where Cara dismounts.

"We will be safe here," Garen says, her breath catching as Cara helps her down from the horse.

We all follow suit, tethering the horses to the trees, as sheltered as they can be. I know Cara will probably lead them down to the stream for some water before long as she's always been the one to ensure that our horses are well cared for. It's just one small glimpse into the compassion she has within, though I know she'd argue that it's just practicality leading her.

Cara helps Garen walk towards the dark cave, Richard ahead, his eyes focused and hand firmly gripping the hilt of his sword, ready to face anything that may launch itself from the shadows at us.

"There should be supplies within," Garen instructs.

I can see that she's getting weaker as Cara all but carries her into the mouth of the darkness. Feeling wary but confident the cave is not occupied, I follow as Richard beckons us all inside.

"It's empty," he says, "apart from these packs in the corner."

"We left them here," Garen explains.

I wonder just how many times they have had to use this cave to rescue Mord-Sith captured by the town. My head aches at thinking as I try to appreciate why the town feels the need to protect themselves from the Mord-Sith by imprisoning as many as they can, yet knowing that it is wrong for them to treat them the way they seem to. I vow to ask Garen more about the situation later, if she's able to talk, and if I'm able to ignore the pang of jealousy in my gut long enough to converse with her.

Attempting to shake some of the water off my cloak I flick it out at the mouth of the cave, dislodging the drops of rain laying on the surface, yet failing to make it much drier. The rain has soaked through everything.

Happily I notice that Richard is pulling out dry blankets from one of the packs in the cave, laying them out on the floor behind a small circle of stones that have the charred remains of a fire within it. The fire pit is close to the opening, yet far enough within the cave that the rain is not reaching it, or the blankets.

"I'll start a fire," Richard informs us all, clutching at some dry kindling that he's scooped up from beside the packs.

The thought that Garen must have done this specifically for us – bring blankets, firewood, and probably food – makes me smile her way, though she is focused solely on Cara as Cara lays her gently down onto one of the blankets. I will have to thank her for all this later.

For now, we need to make sure she doesn't die from her wound.

"Zedd," I say, getting his attention as he rifles through the packs. "Will you be able to help Garen?"

"Mistress Garen," Garen corrects with a scowl as Cara pulls away my dress from her side.

"Mistress Garen," I rectify.

"Help?" Zedd asks, stuffing something into his mouth and chewing as he continues to rifle.

"Yes, help," I emphasise. "She needs to be healed."

"Well, I'm sure Cara has that well under control, Kahlan," he responds, holding my gaze as if I were asking him something completely abhorrent.

Of course, I guess, he still doesn't want to use his magic around her in case she uses it against him or manipulates him through it. I suppose I can't blame his caution, but with all of us here I don't see the potential risk that he so obviously does.

"Zedd, it would be helpful if you could . . ."

"I won't use magic," he interrupts before I can suggest it.

Cara grunts and gives him a look that clearly relays her feelings on the matter, but she says nothing as she hands a water skin to Garen, helping her drink. The moment of tender care she gives Garen causes me to forget for a moment that I should be persuading Zedd; such is the strangeness of one Mord-Sith showing such warmth and concern to another.

Maybe this is how they are, though. How would I know? I only know what I've been told and taught, I only know of their harshness and cruelty from the things they do to others in Darken's name. I have no idea if they take care of one another in much the same way as one would take care of a family member.

The way Cara gently eases Garen to lay flat as she pulls the shirt away from her wound and carefully inspects the damage suddenly fascinates me. Is this just something between the two of them, or do all Mord-Sith have this innate compassion?

For a moment my gaze is transfixed, on them. On Cara's hands as she pulls off her gloves. On Garen's eyes as they travel over Cara's face. On the way they seem to be in a world of their own, a world with no Seeker, no Wizard, not even me.

A burning pain settles behind my ribs as I watch. They have a history, a past, and something I can never have with Cara: an intimacy that speaks volumes.

With my throat dry and my eyes wet I turn away.

Maybe this is for the best. To see what I can't have without causing so much pain, without risking too much. Cara can never truly touch me the way I would want – the way she wants - as she'd be confessed, killed.

With Garen she has no such worry.

With Garen she could probably learn to love the woman that so obviously still loves her.

Tbc…


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

As the rain continues and the cold begins to bite at my skin after so many days of warmth and sunshine, I pluck at my leather, trying to lift it from me, wishing I could strip down to nothing in order to dry. Cara is tending to Garen, leaving Richard out with the horses, making sure they drink their fill after such a hard ride. Zedd is already cooking something over the fire, his robes still sopping wet as he refuses to use magic in Garen's presence.

I shake my head, feeling my damp hair sticking to my neck. Lifting it up and squeezing I sigh and try to be thankful that we're at least free from that prison cell. Holding my hands out to the fire to warm them I let my gaze linger on Cara as she cleans Garen's wound, her fingers tender as she wipes away the blood. I can see from here that it will need stitches and I'm reminded of Cara's cut over her brow. She also needs stitches if Zedd refuses to use his magic right now – there is a trickle of blood trailing down Cara's temple. She seems unaware of it as she works on Garen, but I'll soon have my way and clean Cara's injury and tend to it properly.

No doubt Cara will bat my hands away but I will do my best to help her as she's helped us so often. With my mind set on how I will fill the next candle mark at least I watch as Richard re-emerges from the rain outside our small cave. He shrugs out of his jacket, shaking the rain from it before moving towards me.

I smile as Richard's eyes meet mine, his face soft and open, full of adoration. It's not the kind of adoration of somebody confessed, but it's close. He sits beside me on the cool floor, tugging at the laces of his sodden boots, slipping them off so he can remove his socks and lay them by the fire. I don't mention that they could probably do with a wash first before he bothers drying them, choosing not to become the kind of woman that would nag about such trivial details. Certainly trivial considering our quest and the things we must do every day just to survive.

"We haven't had a chance to talk yet," Richard says as I lift a stick by the fire and give it a prod, enticing the flames higher. "Are you ok?"

I glance at him before turning back to the fire, and to the two Mord-Sith beyond.

"I'm fine," I reply. "Glad to be out of that place."

I hear the slight waver in my voice that's unsure if I really am so glad to be here, rather than being stuck with Cara alone.

"I was worried," Richard tells me, placing his hand on my arm. "If I could have gotten us out of there sooner . . ."

"I know," I reassure, giving him a kind smile.

"Was it terrible being trapped with Cara?" he asks, a slight grin on his lips as he teases about the somewhat tentative nature of my new friendship with her.

My heart stumbles a little as I recall waking up with Cara so close to me this morning. How difficult it was not to act on what we want. It was terrible in its own way, but not how Richard would expect.

"No," I answer, feeling my cheeks begin to flush.

"Did she behave?" he presses, either not noticing or not seeing the redness to my cheeks. Perhaps he thinks it's the heat from the fire.

"Of course," I say, forcing my hands not to tremble or my voice to give me away. I decide to steer the subject away from Cara. "How did they manage to capture you, anyway?" I question.

He had told me of Zedd's little magic show in the market when we were shouting to each other from our cells, but I don't know the details.

"Zedd was showing a little girl a quick magic trick because she was crying. He made a flower. Just a small flower," Richard says. Zedd nods from his position to the left of us. "The next thing we know we're surrounded. I thought it best not to argue. I hoped we could explain to whoever was in charge that Zedd didn't mean any harm, but they refused to accept that, and then we were being locked away, unable to do anything. We could have fought but . . ."

"It seemed pointless at the time. Too many of them," Zedd adds.

"That's what we thought too," I say, glancing over at Cara.

Cara's head lifts, her eyes meeting mine for just a moment before she grabs her pack and rummages within it, pulling out a small package that I know contains the things she needs to suture closed a wound. She adds nothing to the conversation.

I feel a strange kind of tension emanating from her, but I'm unsure what it is. She seems very on edge even considering our situation and the fact we're laying low to avoid being caught. I frown and turn my attention back to Richard as Cara heats the needle over the fire.

"Cara got hurt, though," Richard points out, indicating the cut to Cara's head.

"We made the mistake of pulling our weapons," I explain. "They didn't much like that."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there to help," Richard says, lowering his eyes in shame as if his only duty is to protect me.

Of course, he has it all backwards. It's my duty, my task to protect him, not the other way around. I decide not to point that out once again, not wishing to make him feel any more inadequate than he's probably unnecessarily feeling already.

"We were all in the same bad situation," I soothe, touching his arm lightly and finding his eyes with mine.

Offering him a smile I rise and move to my pack, picking it up and throwing it over my shoulder as I make the decision to at least attempt to freshen myself up after clinging to a horse in the rain.

"Where are you going?" Cara asks brusquely, holding a needle very close to Garen's skin, poised to close the slash at her side.

From anybody else the abrupt question would seem rude, but this is Cara, and besides . . . I know that Cara cares for my well being, no matter how much she might wish to deny it.

"To wash," I answer a little abruptly myself - just in case she thinks she can get away with treating me as an invalid in the way Richard sometimes does.

"You shouldn't go alone," she presses, still poised above Garen, who glares at me in irritation at the interruption.

"I don't need a chaperone to wash," I counter, unable to suppress a slight grin at Cara's exasperated jaw-clench.

"Let her go and get eaten by bears," Garen interrupts. "And give me that thing before you put more holes in me than I need."

Garen grabs for the needle and thread in Cara's hand.

"Bears?" I question, watching Cara move her hand away so Garen can't finish tending to her wound herself.

"Yes, bears," Garen responds, as if it explains everything.

"There are bears out there?" Richard asks before I can. At Garen's shrug he stands and turns to me, pulling his boots back on so quickly he almost topples over. "I'll come with you. You shouldn't go alone."

"You do not need to come with me," I exclaim, although I have no interest in facing a bear on my own. "The stream is no more than a few paces away."

"But there . . ."

"Richard," I say, giving him my best stern look, "I'll be fine."

"No, somebody should keep watch," Cara insists, though it's more of a mumble as she looks from me to Garen and back again, her body tense as she decides whether to stand or stay where she is.

Then her gaze lands on Richard and I see the narrowing of her eyes as he pulls on his jacket and walks towards the cave entrance beside me. It's obvious to me that she wishes to come herself, rather than Richard be so close to me while I remove clothing. It makes me smile despite the fact she seems to be choosing tending to Garen over watching me disrobe.

"There really is no need . . ." I try, but Richard is already back out in the rain, a grin on his face that causes Cara to roll her eyes.

I wait just a moment more, wondering if Cara will change her mind and insist she is better suited for the job as my guardian, but she makes no move to follow as she grumbles something under her breath and turns her attention back to Garen.

Feeling slighted, I sigh and grip my pack tighter, catching Zedd's fascinated gaze as he watches me. I give him no further cause to allow the thoughts in his head to linger, hooking my arm through Richard's and allowing him to escort me to the nearby stream.

I'm unsure where I stand with Cara, especially now that Garen is here with us - for who knows how long. Cara might want me to wait before I speak with Richard, or she may want me to refrain from speaking to him at all about my change of heart. I decide I won't take this opportunity to talk to him, despite the fact we get rare chances to be alone like this.

He sits on a rock not far from the small stream, his body turned away from me as I undress a little way. I know he'll probably steal the occasional peek, but I can't blame him for that. I would do the same if it was Cara washing in the stream and I had been tasked with watching out for danger for her.

I take my time washing and rinsing out my clothes, making sure to keep myself covered as much as I can with the cloak I also brought along. The rain makes bathing difficult and cold, but after being trapped in a warm room with a very attractive Mord-Sith for days . . . this had to be done.

Glancing behind myself I see that Richard really is doing his best not to look. He's fiddling with some wood and his hunting knife, paying much more attention to it than to me. If it were Cara sat there I would probably be unable to wash for the attention she was giving me. I shudder as I try not to imagine her here, beside me, stripping out of her leathers and cupping water over herself. Over me perhaps.

Groaning, I sit down on the rocky bank, holding the cloak around my shoulders and easing my feet into the shallow stream. I splash water up my bare legs and over the insides of my thighs, touching my skin softly with the very barest contact from my fingertips. For a brief moment I can almost imagine them to be Cara's fingertips, daring to roam, to burn me with their yearning caress. I fail to suppress the sigh that breaks free as I wash quickly between my legs, thoughts full of Cara as I splash clean water over my dark curls.

"Are you ok, Kahlan?" Richard asks.

I quickly look over my shoulder. He's facing my way, concern in his eyes. I raise an eyebrow and he swiftly turns his head, a slight blush to his cheeks.

"I'm fine, Richard," I assure.

There was a time that this would have been awkward for different reasons. Now, I just wish I knew a way not to hurt him. I do love the way he makes me feel – warm, safe – but I don't think that will ever truly be enough. There was passion once, before Cara joined us, before my body began to betray me. But I no longer look at Richard and see a lover. I see a friend, and a father of many happy children. Just perhaps not my own.

Finishing up and drying myself as best I can, I dress in my older travelling dress, pulling the softer material over my cool skin and covering myself with the cloak. My leather will need oiling after all this rain.

Draping my things over my arm I step beside Richard and watch for a moment as he carves something intricate into the piece of wood he has been running his knife over. Leaning down I place a soft kiss on the side of his head above his temple, lingering with my lips against his skin.

"I missed you," I say honestly.

I did miss him. His smile, his kindness. His ability to stay positive no matter the circumstance.

"I missed you too," Richard says, his smile wide and pleased. "I was a little worried that something . . . something was different."

I allow him to put his arm around me as he stands, finding comfort in his tentative embrace, as if it's a cool cloth to a feverish head.

"What do you mean?" I ask, worried that he knows something is wrong between us.

"You've just seemed a little . . . I dunno, distant lately."

My body stiffens and I pull away just enough to look into his eyes.

"We need to concentrate on the quest, Richard," I say softly, hoping he will understand. "You know that."

"But is everything ok?" he presses, stopping us before we reach the cave and the others.

From where we're stood I can see Cara still tending to Garen; wrapping bandages around her, her eyes full of concern. Once again it seems like they're completely alone, lost in their own world, and I feel my stomach tighten.

"Everything's fine," I respond, the tremble to my voice hopefully slight enough for Richard not to have noticed it.

Giving his arm a squeeze before I move into the cave and out of the rain I also hope my smile is as genuine as I wish it to be.

I hate being like this with him, but I see no other way at the moment. I need to speak more with Cara, and ensure that what she wants is really more than just a night with me. Doubts are starting to creep into my mind again and I feel uneasy.

"Good," he practically sighs, following me in.

As I put my things out to dry at the back of the cave I feel Cara's eyes on me, burning into my back. Not knowing how I feel – upset or annoyed, or accepting – I do not look her way. I know it's silly for me to be bothered that she's showing so much concern for the other Mord-Sith, but there's a dark part of me that wishes to embrace my jealousy. If I didn't know about their history it probably wouldn't be getting to me, but I do, and it is.

I must shake myself out of this mood. It isn't fair of me to want Cara to feel, to have emotions and compassion, and then insist that those emotions are to be reserved only for me. I can not be that selfish. It goes against all my training.

The evening comes quickly, no sign of any guards, no bears, no distractions for me as I watch Cara watching Garen.

Garen is asleep, having had very little in the way of food. She'd lost a lot of blood and is still extremely pale; the freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks standing out in stark contrast to her skin. Cara finally turns her attentions from her and swipes at the dried blood at her brow, looking at her fingers as if the blood on them is completely baffling to her. I wonder what it is in her mind right now that's causing the play of emotions I can see flitting across her face. I wonder what she's thinking.

Her gaze lifts to mine as I sit by the fire, huddled in a blanket with Richard snoozing on the ground beside me. Another wave of emotion passes through her green eyes and I fall into them completely. I give myself to her without a second thought.

The tension in Cara's face relaxes just a little and I smile, feeling and allowing a warmth to flow through my chest that I no longer wish to be afraid of. She turns to Garen briefly, checking that she's still asleep before she moves away from her. Reaching for her pack, Cara pulls out some items and places them on the ground. She shifts uneasily for a moment and I realise that rainwater must have dried against her skin and is making her leather rather tight and uncomfortable. I watch her closely. I want to close the distance between us and undress her, relieve her skin, let it breathe under my touch.

A gruff noise – the clearing of a throat - at the other side of the small cave shocks me from my brief fantasy and I glance over at Zedd as he pretends to be fascinated with whatever else he has found to eat from Garen's packs. A quick flash of his eyes towards me ensures I know he noticed something, however, and that he felt the need to break the tension.

Worried that my desire for Cara must be apparent I blush and look away into the fire, avoiding bringing further attention to myself. I need to be more careful.

Vowing not to be so obvious I do my best to ignore Cara as she shifts around the cave, moving closer to me - though staying equally as close to Garen – as she places her bedding down and loosens her leathers a little. She pulls some strips of cotton into her lap and places a water skin beside her, sitting crossed legged as she busies herself silently.

Realising that she's preparing to tend to the cut at her temple alone, I pause only briefly before offering assistance. My gaze travels to Zedd as he sits with a furrowed brow, then to Richard as he snores beside me. I can't allow Cara to do this alone; to feel alone. She is far from alone.

"Let me," I suggest softly, moving towards Cara's bedroll before waiting for any opposition.

Resistance dies on her lips as I take the cloth from her hands and wet it, kneeling beside her. If Zedd wishes to see something other than friendship in this then that's up to him – even if I weren't feeling more than that for Cara I would still offer to tend to her wounds. I would still care. Determined not to allow my fears and my feelings to change how I would normally act, I ignore the frown on Cara's forehead and take her face gently in my hands as I study her injury.

Her eyes meet mine briefly before she looks away. I'm thankful for that. Being so close to her I would be unable to focus if those green eyes were stripping me of my senses.

"It doesn't look too bad," I say.

My fingers drop from the softness of her skin, and I hold back the sigh that threatened to reveal just what touching her now does to me.

Taking my time, I clean her wound, thankful that she isn't fussing or pulling away from me. I can sense that she seems tired, perhaps emotionally wrung out. This is an odd situation only made more difficult with the re-appearance of her ex-lover.

My eyes drift towards Garen as I prepare some thread, thoughts battling in my head, emotions in turmoil. I'm glad that she helped us, and grateful, but I don't know what is going to happen next. Maybe Cara will want Garen to stay with us, or she may even be tempted by Garen to go back to a temple, to reintegrate. It hurts in a way I can barely stand to think we could lose Cara. To think I could lose her.

"Don't think so much," Cara all but whispers.

I lift my gaze back to her.

"I'm just . . ."

"There is nothing to worry about," Cara interrupts, her voice low so hopefully only I will hear.

Her eyes on mine feel like a warm embrace and I relax my shoulders and breathe a sigh. Surreptitiously she brushes her fingertips over my thigh, determined resolve sparkling in the green I'm lost within both easing my mind and making my heart thump with exhilaration.

I nod and remember to be aware that we're not alone. My fingers fumble with the needle and thread I intend to use and a slight raising of Cara's eyebrow makes me chuckle.

"I'll try not to hurt you," I say as I take a breath and wait for my hands to still.

"You can't hurt a Mord-Sith," Cara quips, though she sounds less than certain and I know there is more to that than the obvious as I lift the needle.

Reading between the lines I fight the urge to place a soft kiss on Cara's cheek and tell her that her heart would be safe with me. I can't make that promise here, and I can't make it yet.

I choose to remain silent.

It doesn't take much to close the wound and Cara doesn't wince once. I clean it again, going slowly as I take this opportunity to be so near to her, to have my fingers on her. Resting my hand at her neck for a moment as I dab away the last of the dried blood I notice that Cara's eyes are drifting closed. I can feel the pulse at her throat, quickening as my fingertips move ever so slightly across her skin, caressing her. Her chest is rising and falling more rapidly than necessary and I realise I should pull away before something cracks. Before she snaps and pulls me to her to claim me.

Just this innocent contact is enough to make both of us tremble with want.

I find a reserve of propriety and lift my hands away from her, watching the disappointment quickly cross Cara's now open eyes. She nods and thanks me with a mumble and I place the soiled cloth on a pile of others that will need washing. I notice my white dress amongst them and feel a sudden sense of freedom, thinking that it might possibly be spoiled for good.

The sensation shocks me and I almost stumble backwards, away from Cara, away from the unexpected desire to deny what I am, to run from the ties and the restraints that have been placed on me since birth. As much as I have cursed being a Confessor, hated some of the things I'm expected to do, I have never truly wanted to lose that part of myself . . . until now.

But there are no 'if onlys', no wishes that could be made, no ways of making this easier.

I'm the Mother Confessor. This is my duty. I will protect The Seeker and obey the teachings that brought me here. But I will also feel my heart being lost to this woman before me, who I should hate and despise.

I may have to learn to accept who and what I am once again. And it may take time; weeks, months, or even years of longing as I live my life by Richard's side, or as Cara discovers new parts of her own heart as she cares for another – like Garen perhaps – but I know I cannot fool myself into believing I will ever be happy just to allow this to slip through my fingers.

It may not be soon, but I will find a way to be hers.

Tbc …


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

We allow the dawn to wake us, raising from our bedrolls and greeting the day with yawns and stretching, Zedd still grumbling about having another Mord-Sith to be wary of. Richard asks him to try to be nice but Zedd just grunts and decides to sulk. I shake my head but I understand his concern. It has taken time for us to trust Cara, though I think Zedd still keeps a part of himself ready for anything, any betrayal. Trusting this new addition will not be as easy.

I am happy to place my trust in Cara's familiarity with Garen, but I will remain vigilant. Garen may choose to leave for her temple today so it may be unnecessary to trouble ourselves with these thoughts, but something tells me she won't be leaving quite so soon.

Cara was already awake as the rest of us tumbled from our dreams, having taken last watch. She seems tired as I allow my gaze to travel over her face. Brushing wrinkles from my clothes I try to concentrate on what Richard is saying as he and Cara begin to break camp, putting things into packs, shaking out blankets and bedrolls. Zedd tends the fire, boiling water for tea.

It's almost like any other morning but with one addition. I glance over at Garen as she shifts uncomfortably on her bedroll, her hand at her side as she leans against the smooth rock behind her. She still looks pale, though not as sickly as the night before.

"I checked the compass this morning," Richard says as he helps Zedd put together a light breakfast. "It's pointing back the way we came, more or less."

"More or less?" Zedd asks.

"Slightly more to the South," Richard replies.

Zedd furrows his brow and Richard's brow mimics the action almost identically.

"Why would it take us back?" Cara demands, her hands on her hips as she stands close to where Garen is sitting.

"I don't know," Richard admits with a shrug.

"It can't be taking us to the Stone; it was pointing us in the other direction only a few days ago," Zedd suggests. "Maybe we need to do something, or learn something somewhere, back where we came from."

"Like when it took us back to the Minders," I guess, recalling how the compass wished Richard to learn how to temper his rage when using the Sword of Truth.

"Yes," Zedd confirms with a nod.

"Should we follow it?" Richard asks, lifting the compass.

"Of course, dear boy," Zedd replies. "We follow it."

I can see tension on Cara's face, as if she wants to object, to question the sense of forever travelling backwards, but we all know that the compass is our guide in this. We're slaves to its direction, no matter how pointless or exhausting that becomes.

"Then let's have breakfast and see where it takes us," I add, folding away my blanket and placing it into my pack.

Cara shakes her head but remains quiet, her hands dropping from her hips in exasperation. I'm certain we'll all have further questions and worries, but for now we need to think only of how we're supposed to go back the way we came without running into trouble. We may still be at risk of being hunted, to be placed in cells again, for our fates to be decided upon by people who will not listen to reason.

"Are you all mad?" Garen suddenly asks. "You just escaped from that place and you wish to go back?"

"It's not as simple as that, child," Zedd responds, his eyes glaring, daring for Garen to test our commitment.

"I'm no child!" Garen snaps, rising with slight difficulty to her feet. "I did not risk my own neck for you to walk back onto their swords. Mistress Dominique did not give her life so you . . ."

Cara places a strong hand on Garen's arm, her head tilting as she catches Garen's gaze. A brief moment passes in which they seem to communicate beyond words.

With an angry sigh, Garen backs down, turning from us and pulling her arm away from Cara. I wonder what was conveyed in that moment between them, but I try not to dwell, not wishing to give fuel to petty jealousies.

No more is said on the matter as we eat and drink tea, an uncomfortable atmosphere settling around us as Zedd and Garen glare at each other across the fire, as Cara does all she can not to look my way, and as Richard shuffles in confusion at the tension.

Once the horses have been tended to and once the fire is out and packs all ready to go, we wait for Richard to confirm once again our bearing. He stalks toward me, having come from the direction of the small stream, his face a mix of pleased apprehension. I see my Confessor dress in his clutches, its white material almost sparkling under the morning sun.

"I did my best with it," he says, presenting it to me as the others busy themselves with final preparations to leave.

My eyes meet his and I offer him a weak smile, thoughts of last night crowding my mind. I cannot decide if I'm happy he has cleaned the dress or if I'm terribly sad. I choose not to confuse Richard with my awkward mood, thanking him as I brush my fingers over the white linen, seeing no trace of a blood stain anywhere. Of course, it doesn't surprise me; the dress is not made in a conventional way. There is magic within it. Within each thread. Richard's eyes light up at my thanks, his face the very picture of somebody who is smitten and happy they have done a good deed. I turn away quickly, pushing the dress into my pack.

We travel away from the cave with less haste than when we arrived, no clear destination in mind other than where the compass may lead us, no clue as to what we're meant to do next, or what will greet us. I'm not even sure if we will be taking Garen to the nearest temple; neither Cara nor Garen has mentioned that possibility. I know I should have asked before we left, but Cara seemed oddly unapproachable – even more so than usual.

She barely spoke to me as we prepared to leave and I didn't approach her, mainly because Garen has been Cara's shadow all morning. They stole away to the stream together to wash, I presume, and ate their breakfasts side by side. They spoke only a few words to each other, but they say more with just a look than words seem able. Now they ride together on one horse, with Cara sat in front of Garen, holding the reins firmly in her gloved hands. I know that Cara dislikes sharing her horse immensely, so the ease with which she shares it now makes me crease my brow and glare at their backs in consternation.

I nod and smile when Richard talks, unsure what he's saying most of the time; so much has changed in the last few days and my head is spinning with such imposing vigour I feel as if I could topple from my horse any moment and lay weeping on the floor. But Richard's arms around me keep me tethered to the large horse beneath us, tethered to Richard. He kisses my shoulder and I tense, unable to stop myself before he notices.

"Are you injured?" Richard asks.

Suppressing a sigh I tell him I'm fine and pat the hand he has settled on my stomach.

He must sense that I don't wish to explain my reaction to him, and Richard – though he can be as childish as a six year old hunting chipmunks some days – shows a level of restraint not usual to him and allows me to brood in peace.

We all travel quietly, keeping far from the roads, using the forest as cover as we head just south of the town we had fled from. Richard keeps checking the compass to ensure we don't stray too far from our course, his boyish smile as wide as ever as he points us in the right direction, happy to be the one we have to turn to for guidance. It's not too long before we reach a crossroad in the dirt path through the forest and Cara pulls her horse to a stop, turning to address us.

"If we continue this way we will come out of the forest too close to that wretched town, but the other path will no doubt cause us to stray from Richard's compass," she states.

Richard urges our horse closer to Cara's, leading it in a tight circle where the path forks. He takes out the compass and checks the bearing once again, nodding to himself as he thinks.

"What's at the end of this path? Do you know?" he asks Garen.

"If you follow it far enough we will reach my temple, though we very rarely use this trail," Garen responds, no sign of pain from her injury now despite the jostling of the horse - I suddenly feel terrible and callous for not enquiring about her injury earlier in the day. "But halfway along there is another, smaller trail that veers off and leads to an abandoned cottage by a lake."

"Abandoned?" Zedd scoffs. "No doubt pillaged by your temple."

Zedd has remained behind us some way for the entire ride this morning, the occasional grumble coming from his lips, between snacks.

Garen rolls her eyes but Cara remains stoic.

"As far as I know the cottage has been empty for many years, before the temple was even established," Garen responds curtly. "And we do not pillage. There would be no point to such an act; we have all we need already."

"Indeed you do," Zedd mumbles, his displeasure with her presence clear.

I glare at Zedd; we can't afford to allow his petulance to cloud his judgment.

"If we continue down the path this way," Richard begins, pointing our horse away from the path that would take us towards the town, "do you think we'll be able to follow the compass as far as possible? Is the forest passable off the path?"

"It's sparse enough to travel through," Garen answers. "Though it thickens closer to the temple."

"Let's hope we don't have to go that far," he says.

I notice Garen's shoulders tensing; Cara's hand reaches back, settling on Garen's thigh to soothe her before she says anything that might make an awkward situation more volatile. There is no point in arguing about the Mord-Sith and their ways, or their allegiance to Darken at this time; our destination is what is important.

Ignoring my rising ire at Cara's proximity to Garen and the ease in which she touches her I sit tall in the saddle, pulling myself a little away from Richard.

"Let's follow this path as far as we're able," I suggest, in no mood for bickering, or my own envy. "Maybe the compass is in fact leading us to the abandoned cottage."

"Or perhaps the temple," Cara adds, caution shadowing her words. "In which case we'll need to stop and formulate a plan. We can't just march our way up to its gates."

"You wouldn't even get that far," Garen boasts, a smirk lifting her lips.

"We'll see," Richard says with a grin, jigging the reins and sending us forward, leaving Cara's horse to trail behind, leaving Zedd even further afield as he shakes his head and mutters to himself.

I understand that he's not happy with another Mord-Sith in our party, but I'm surprised at the level of hostility he is showing despite the fact it is because of Garen that we are free of that infernal town. He seems in such a mood with himself that I have to wonder if maybe he's just using Garen's presence as a way of venting his frustrations over something else entirely. We will have a talk as I cannot allow him to continue to stamp his feet as if he were just a child. If his mind is elsewhere it endangers us all.

"Check the compass, Richard," I prompt after several leagues, feeling the sun hot at my back, making me almost miss the rains of yesterday.

The forest is indeed sparser here, though the track still only wide enough for one horse to travel comfortably.

"It wants us to go that way," Richard indicates, pointing slightly to our left, off the path.

"We're almost at the next fork," Garen calls from behind. "It seems your little trinket wishes us to visit the decrepit cottage by the lake after all."

Richard grumbles under his breath about the compass being far more than just a trinket, but he decides not to rise to Garen's teasing, spurring our horse forward. He keeps the compass in his hand, using only one to grip the reins. I hold my tongue as I have done this entire ride, wondering why he seems to think me incapable of taking the reins myself. I offered earlier so he wouldn't have to keep craning his neck over my shoulder to check for obstacles, but he just patted my thigh and told me he was enjoying the ride just fine. He gave me a squeeze and I fought the compulsion to turn and push him off the saddle.

He doesn't deserve my short temper or irritation, the problem is all my own; the guilt eating at me as much as the niggling doubts and worry now that Garen is with us.

"Maybe we should stop to eat and rest the horses a while before we continue," I say, ever wary of danger ahead in D'Hara.

"Why waste time?" Garen asks bluntly from behind Cara.

I try not to notice that her hands are gripping Cara's hips, their bodies so close that not even a feather could pass between them.

"If you're going to travel with us much further," I begin, my irritation evident, "then you'll learn not to question me."

Aware instantly how arrogant that sounded, I grit my teeth and turn away from the Mord-Sith now glaring at my back. Richard is too close to me, making me feel unsettled and confined. I wriggle in the saddle, and lean forward a little way, hoping none of my companions decide to push me further and feel the full force of a Mother Confessor's annoyance. The atmosphere fills with tension and I take a calming breath.

Garen begins to speak and my muscles tense.

"Kahlan is right," Cara interrupts before Garen can make further comment. "We should stop up ahead."

She steers her horse around us, her green eyes catching mine only briefly. I try to gain reassurance in the quick glance, take what I can as I feel the heat of her stare, the need lingering in a way that makes my heart throb. Feeling scorched just by that moment of eye contact between us, I forget everything but the way she makes me feel. Recalling our time together in the cell, the way we had to fight to keep from touching, from kissing, I lift a hand to my lips, brushing a fingertip over them as I momentarily disappear into my longing for Cara.

Only the sudden motion of the horse as Richard clicks his tongue and sends us after the two Mord-Sith breaks me free of my thoughts. I feel my cheeks flush and drop my gaze to the forest floor as our horse picks its way over fallen branches and tufts of grass.

Cara leads us away from the trail, sending her horse around the trees until she stops, waiting a moment to listen. The forest is quiet, the trees up ahead standing closer together than what we've been travelling through. It seems darker there, but Cara shows no fear as she slips from her horse and helps Garen to jump down beside her.

I look away from where they're touching but not before Cara's eyes land on me, her expression unreadable. I shudder, feeling a chill here as the canopy of leaves allows little of the sun through to warm the ground.

"Are you ok?" Richard asks.

I do my best not to snap at him as he offers me a hand to get down from our large mount. I take it, wishing he would stop questioning my wellbeing quite so often. I used to find it endearing, sweet even, but he still fails to understand that I am not just a feeble woman in need of protection or careful handling. I am more than he will ever know, but explaining has become tedious, so I just smile and nod, hoping he will see a tenderness within my eyes that I'm not certain is still there – certainly not in the way it once was.

"Thank you," I say, warmed slightly by his grateful look.

It is not my intention to hurt this generous, loving man, but I cannot lie much longer. When we have a little time together, alone, I will try to explain, try to let him down as gently as I can. But for now I will smile and continue as if everything is fine.

My thoughts soon turn to Cara as she moves beside me once Richard takes the horses to tie them close by. He pats them as he leaves them by some lush grass, his hands pulling at straps and buckles as he begins to ready our late lunch.

I glance at Cara, only briefly meeting her eyes before I turn my head; she stirs such things in me that I'm sure I can't hide.

"We will need firewood, and water," Cara says. "We drank ours on the way."

I recall seeing Garen taking many drinks, replenishing lost fluids due to her blood loss. She looks better for it, but it's obvious that she still feels weak as she sits down heavily on a fallen log, her eyes never leaving Cara and I.

"Is there a stream nearby?" I ask.

Cara nods. "It runs into the lake we're headed towards. Garen says it should be just a little further ahead, into the thicker trees."

Her eyes catch mine again and I furrow my brow, sensing she's trying to tell me something, though the distraction of Garen's steely gaze and Zedd's muttering renders me incompetent at reading her signals.

"We should go together," she says with a less subtle lift of her eyebrow. "These woods are not safe."

Richard steps forward, having overheard, his mouth opening to offer his help. I cut him off abruptly, ignoring Zedd's barely disguised surprise.

"Richard, you should stay here. Cara and I can go," I decree without hesitation, eager to be close to her after the days ride apart and her remoteness this morning.

His brown eyes twitch, a hand moving to settle lightly on the hilt of his sword. I know it means he feels unsettled. More and more he is becoming tired of his authority being questioned. He wants to be in control, and I understand, empathise. But it makes more sense for him to stay and protect the horses and Zedd – who is still refusing to use magic.

"We will be quite safe," I assure him, smiling gently, in a way that used to assuage any macho posturing.

It still works and he agrees, though a grunt from Garen clearly indicates her disapproval. I suddenly wonder what Cara and Garen may have talked about in our travels today. I try not to panic; questioning if Garen knows, and if she would tell Richard.

With another smile towards Richard I follow Cara into the trees, ridiculously overjoyed that we will be alone together, even if only for a short while. I try to ignore my feelings about Garen – the way her eyes on Cara makes my skin prickle. The way her hands on Cara makes me want to strangle her. I can't help but think she is a threat in some way or another, and I wonder again if Cara has told her more than she should.

As soon as Cara and I are far enough away I ask, "What does she know? About us?"

My voice is tight and urgent, a note of accusation making Cara glare at me as we finally lose sight of the others behind us.

"What do you mean?" she counters, prickling under my unspoken allegation.

"Garen," I say, "does she know that we . . . will she tell Richard?"

I stop and turn to Cara, my hands on my hips. I know I'm being unnecessarily aggressive - the last two day's jealousy rearing its ugly head and baring its teeth - and I instantly feel Cara begin to close herself to me, her jaw tightening and her posture rigid.

"Does she know that we want to fuck each other?" Cara retorts, anger flashing suddenly, dangerously in her eyes. I have made a mistake. "Does she know that you – the virtuous Mother Confessor – wishes to spread her legs wide for a mere Mord-Sith? Is that what you mean?"

Fighting the abrupt urge to strike Cara I grit my teeth. I know why we're doing this – bodies tense, anger simmering, tension so thick it is smothering. I know this is the result of our want for each other and our inability to express it, to explain it, to give in, to vent our frustration in the way we need. I lower my eyes and sigh, dropping my hands to my sides.

Lowering my voice, softer this time, I ask again, "Does she know, Cara?"

"She knows only what she's seen," Cara answers, her own voice now quieter, mindful of the others not far away, even though her previous words were almost loud enough to reach Richard's ears. "She told me this morning that my interest was obvious, and that I was playing with fire."

My heart flutters with the way her voice changes; its resigned tenderness such a contrast to her usual demeanour, to the anger that had just rushed through her.

"She won't say anything," Cara assures.

Lifting my head I meet her gaze again, instantly falling into the eyes that haunt and beguile me.

"How can you be sure?" I try not to panic, but Garen could destroy all of us with just a few words.

With a slight smirk Cara lifts her chin. "Do not underestimate my powers of persuasion," she says deviously.

"What do you mean?" I ask, my chest tightening as I envision Cara seducing Garen into keeping quiet.

Cara smiles, that smile that leaves me breathless and spinning. She turns and begins to walk deeper into the trees. I follow with my mind reeling, my hands clenching as I fight the urge to yell at Cara and demand answers, demand that she vows not to leave me, not to hurt me. But I can't demand such things of her; we're not together in that way and we shouldn't even imagine that we can be. Still, I can't help but want to claim her as mine and demand her complete faithfulness.

"Cara," I call quietly, mindful of the people we're leaving behind us as we near the bubbling of a stream that can't be much further ahead. "Cara, what do you mean?"

She ignores me with a grin as we reach a break in the trees, a shallow trickle of water flowing over jagged rocks separating us from the rest of the forest.

Cara drops the water skins at her feet and lowers herself to her haunches. Pulling one of her gloves off, she dips her fingertips into the water. I watch, enjoying the way the sun breaks through this small clearing to wash over Cara, to bathe her in its warm light. Her hair looks like the finest silk I've ever seen; blonde on red. I'm momentarily stricken dumb by how attractive she is, how beautiful. It's difficult to remember in this moment that she is Mord-Sith, and that she has known such pain that would kill most people in an instant. But it is also impossible to think of her as anything but Mord-Sith, such is the way she holds herself. The two extremes of her make her beautiful to me; the delicate femininity of her, and the strength and power living just under the surface.

I feel my heart go to her, yearn for her. This is what it feels like to fall in love. To fall without knowing what I will land on, how it will change me, how it will change everything. I cannot stop myself, no matter the consequences.

Noticing suddenly that her eyes are on mine I try to look away but find myself unable. She holds my gaze as she stands, her body flowing as easily as the water at her feet. My stomach flips in a most alarming way as she stalks towards me, her eyes never leaving mine, her other glove dropping to the floor.

"I warned you that you shouldn't look at me that way," Cara sighs, stopping in front of me, so close I can smell the scent of her skin. Skin that I have touched, and that I want more of.

The green of her eyes sparkles, her lips parting as she breathes heavily through her nose. It feels like lightening has struck nearby; that unique charge in the air after a storm lingering between us now, in the silence, in the things we haven't said, the things we want.

I want to tell her to kiss me. I want to tell her she can. I want her to know that in this moment I could forget everything of duty, of loyalty, of danger. I could forget about Richard, about Garen.

Who we are and where we are no longer persuades my heart to hide. There is no fighting this.

"Cara," I say, voice trembling even in its strength, "kiss me."

TBC…


	14. Chapter 14

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Chapter Fourteen

Cara's nostrils flare, her eyes darkening as she steps even closer to me, close enough to touch. Her gaze travels across my face, lingering at my mouth as her lips part. She wants to close the distance between us. To give us what we both desperately want, but she doesn't move. My heart pounding, I imagine the softness of her mouth, the warmth of her breath. I want to take it inside me. Take all of her inside me.

I see the struggle on her face as she decides what to do, her brow tightening, eyes searching mine. Letting her see what I feel for her I do not turn from the intensity of her gaze, allowing it, revelling in it, growing under its power as she moves up close to me in one step, the battle within herself making her body tense. Glancing down I see her hands at her sides, balled into fists. I want those hands on me, in my hair, on my face.

"Cara," I murmur, barely recognising my own voice.

She brings her face close to mine and I feel the heat of her, the tickle of her breath as it blows hard from her nose. Her nose grazes mine and I close my eyes, praying to the Spirits that she will give me what I want. Cara's lips are so close, but I don't reach for them with my own, needing to know she also wants this enough to be the one to take that first step, to do something that is so opposite to who she believes she should be. To take control of her own destiny rather than listen to the voice inside her that tells her she isn't allowed this, that her duty is more important than this.

Almost feeling her mouth on mine, those beautiful lips, my heart throbs and trips, stomach twisting as the world seems to tilt and leave me spinning. I want to beg her to kiss me. I want to take her.

I feel the shudder that runs through Cara even though we're not touching, and suddenly there is pressure on my mouth – the barest contact. The softest contact. I sigh, body vibrating as her lips brush mine – so full and warm - and I fight the urge to grab her, to kiss her hard, to give in to a desire I have never known before her. As the pressure shifts, pressing a little firmer, everything suddenly stops abruptly. My heart, my breathing, the kiss.

"Well that's a novel way to fetch water," Garen grunts, no more than a few paces from us.

Cara pulls away so violently I almost topple over, my legs unsteady.

"You followed us?" Cara asks angrily, whipping her head round to glare at the other Mord-Sith.

Pulling air into my lungs in the hope to calm myself and regain some semblance of control, I grab at the water skins, move past Cara and quickly dip them into the stream, my face burning with a blush I have no power over. I keep my head lowered, a mix of embarrassment and shame making my hands shake. I know I should feel neither of those things, but it could have been Richard who had stumbled upon us, and I dread to think of what could have happened then, what could have been said, or done.

"You're lucky it was me, and not The Seeker," Garen replies, a smugness to her words as if she could read my mind. "He thought you'd been gone too long and was about to run after you."

I turn and notice Cara's eyes darting into the forest where Richard and Zedd remained. She looks worried, her eyes wide. I hate to see even the slightest glimmer of alarm in those eyes, and I know instantly that I should not have pushed. Should not have asked her to kiss me here.

"I convinced him to stay behind," Garen continues. "A mere thank you will suffice."

She glances my way and I push down the urge to stand and grab her by the throat. Cara's jaw clenches and she glares at Garen almost as fiercely as I, though Garen is right, and we should be grateful she managed to convince Richard not to come lurking into the forest after us.

"Thank you," I grind out, standing with the now full water skins.

I feel so foolish to have been caught. Foolish to have been so stupid and reckless.

"You're welcome, Mother Confessor," Garen says with a grin that sours my mood even more.

A sigh breaks the tension as Cara runs a hand through her hair, her face the picture of despair, and frustration.

"We should get back," Cara grumbles, glancing briefly at me.

With a nod I step beside her but she moves forward, pushing into the leaves ahead and away from me so quickly I can't help but feel my heart ache with the sting of her rapid departure. We had barely kissed, just the slightest touch, but I know she will be cursing herself for it.

Shaking my head as I do my best not to become weighted down with the impossibility of this situation anymore than I am, I lower my gaze to the ground and begin to follow Cara as she stalks off. A hand stops my progress, resting lightly on my arm.

"If you're serious about this, give her time," Garen says, lifting her hand away as I glare at it, then glare even harder into her eyes. "This won't be easy for her."

I almost laugh.

"Not easy for _her_?" I repeat, doing nothing to hide my sarcasm. "It isn't exactly a picnic for me either."

Anger boils within me – at myself, at Garen, even at Cara - and I begin to push past the Mord-Sith. She stops me once again. I almost knock her to the floor, but I remember that she is injured, and that this isn't her fault. I may be angry that she knows too much and has seen too much, but this is not her doing.

"The Lord Rahl is everything to a Mord-Sith," Garen says, her voice low as she looks beyond the warning in my eyes, her tight braid making her appear even more severe than before. "That she can even imagine betraying him, let alone acting on that, is testament to how much she must feel for you."

The words rock me a little and I feel tears spring to my eyes.

I look away, shamed again for needing Cara so.

"If you love her, let her come to you in her own way, in her own time," she adds, a note of sadness making me glance up at her.

I can see instantly that Garen still cares deeply for Cara, perhaps loves her as she once did, but there is a resigned look on her face. She knows they will never again have what they once shared. I almost feel sorrow for her, for them, but I want Cara's heart to be mine and mine alone. There are questions that I need to ask, however, even though they might hurt me or make me jealous. There is so much about Cara that I don't know of. Those questions will have to wait, as I remember that Richard is probably pacing back and forth waiting for my return.

Biting my lower lip as I find myself wanting to admit that I do indeed love Cara, I nod, not wishing for Cara to hear it from anybody but me. I know what Garen is trying to tell me, and I know I must remember that Cara and I can't allow desire to burn everything around us to the ground. We need to be sensible, and certain of what we're doing. I need to respect Cara's unwavering loyalty to Richard. With that in mind, I finally walk past Garen, a determined awareness in my heart persuading me that I will speak with Richard as soon as possible and tell him that I cannot belong to him. If I can remove just one obstacle, then surely the rest will follow.

When I reach the others, Garen following slowly behind, I offer Richard a small smile, avoiding Cara's eyes. I notice the frown, even deeper now on Zedd's brow, but push aside my concern.

We build a small fire and have a cooked lunch, Richard and Zedd getting as much information out of Garen about the surrounding area as they can, though Zedd offers more grumbles and mumbles than anything else. He is still determined to make Garen feel as unwelcome as possible.

I do my best not to look Cara's way too often, knowing if my gaze lingers I will remember just how it felt to finally have her lips on me, and I would blush profusely at my thoughts.

"You look troubled," Richard says as he sits down beside me, the others clearing things away and preparing to leave.

My chest tightens and I take a quick look at Cara as she tightens the saddle on her horse, her body turned from me.

"Is something wrong?" he presses.

I feel the warmth of his hand on my thigh and fight tears, biting back all the emotions somersaulting inside me. If I speak I might say something that could never be taken back, that will break the dam.

Never have I felt so impossibly stuck between what I want and what I am.

"We'll talk later, Richard," I say with a forced smile I know won't reach my eyes.

He furrows his brow deeper, about to ask more from me, but I stand, brushing at my skirt.

"Where are we headed now?" I ask, hoping to distract Richard.

For a moment it seems like he will ignore the question and persist with his own, but with a shake of his head he straightens himself and answers.

"We'll head to the cottage. I think that's where we're supposed to go," he says.

I nod, sure he's probably right. He has more insight than even he knows – an innate skill of a Seeker.

Without fuss, and only the odd huff from Zedd, we begin to ride again, making our way down a track long ago abandoned and left to the encroaching trees. It's slow going, and by the time we reach a clearing with a dilapidated cottage set in the middle, the sun is beginning to slip away leaving the day to cool around us.

I shudder slightly as I feel rain in the air, dark clouds heading our way. We stop and Richard runs a hand up and down my arm in an attempt to help warm me, but all it does is make me stiffen and look towards Cara. She is sat rigid in her saddle with Garen between her legs, their eyes searching the building ahead and the lake beyond.

The place seems quiet, truly abandoned, but a small wisp of smoke coming from a mostly crumbled chimney makes us all approach warily.

"We'll circle around the back," Cara suggests, turning her horse from us and making her way to the side of the old house.

Staying close to the tree line she moves out of sight and I feel a sense of dread that I find difficult to bury. I know she's completely capable of protecting herself, and with Garen with her it would take many men to overcome them, but I still find myself wishing I could keep her within sight.

As they secure the back of the cottage Richard slips from our horse, gripping the hilt of his sword as he slowly walks up the overgrown path towards the front door. I pick up the reins and follow behind, the horse tipping his head left and right as he protests our slow gait. Nobody comes to the grimy windows or opens the door, so I jump down alongside Richard, ready for anything.

With Zedd bringing up our rear, Richard pauses at the door that barely looks attached, some of the hinges coming away, rusty and old. There is broken glass to our left where a window has blown through, and the roof barely seems capable of keeping out even the slightest drizzle; yet somebody must be in there for the smoke to be rising into the darkening sky.

I start as Cara appears from the opposite side of the building she left from, her eyes catching mine briefly, making me want to smile, to reach out and connect with her in any way I can. She looks away and dismounts.

"This is the only door in or out," she says, nodding to the door Richard is about to rap his knuckles upon. "Let me," she adds, pushing her way through us, standing at the foot of the door, her body ready for attack.

"Cara, there's no need to . . ." Richard begins, but a curt look from Cara stills his tongue.

She bangs heavily on the wood, the frame shaking, dust and flakes of old paint tumbling to the ground. There is no answer and I wonder if maybe we're taking too big a risk. Anything or anybody could be inside. It could be a trap – wasn't it Garen who mentioned this place? So far from anything, from where the Stone had been leading us before it decided to have us turn back on ourselves.

I look closely at Garen as she remains mounted, her hands gripping the reins. She seems nonchalant, uninterested; maybe too much so, as if she knows something we don't.

"Be careful," I find myself saying to Cara, stepping closer.

She glances my way but once again bangs on the door, harder this time. With a crack and a clatter the door pulls from its remaining hinges, thudding to the floor beyond, dust and debris lifting into the air and whooshing outwards.

Cara takes a rather unfortunate deep breath as she steps back, a series of sneezes and coughs bringing tears to her eyes as dust pours into her lungs. I grab her arm and pull her towards me, away from the entrance as she is momentarily disorientated. Her hand reaches out and grasps on to me as she swipes at her eyes. Richard does the same, coughing and waving dust away to peer into the darkness that emanates from the cottage. Fortunately most of the dust blew past me, depositing itself mainly on Cara and Richard.

I feel Garen jump down from her horse beside me, stalking ahead, agiels in hand. Her leather creeks and groans as she waits, listening. The sound surprises me – Cara's leather is always silent, soft. I wonder if maybe Garen's leather is newer, having been bundled up in one of the packs in the cave we spent the night in. Nothing about her seems soft and I'm more wary of her now than ever. Watching her, my hand still on Cara's arm, I almost expect Cara to push her aside and take control again, but one look in Cara's face makes it clear that her eyes are still full of dust and grit. She blinks rapidly, finally pulling away from me a little as Zedd watches from beyond the drifting cloud still gently billowing from the doorway.

"Is there anybody there?" Garen calls out.

There is no answer, but instinctively I feel a presence inside. My eyes meet Richard's and he nods, understanding.

"Stay here," he says, pulling his sword free with a resounding ring.

Garen gives him a look that clearly states she thinks he has lost his mind, her defiant stance making her seem as if she is towering over him.

"Don't listen to him," Cara says with a cough, her throat full of dust. "Go in."

She indicates for Garen to enter, and to my surprise Garen doesn't wait to be asked twice. Ignoring Richard's gaping mouth as he begins to protest, she steps onto the door and into the house.

Richard follows, annoyance flashing in his eyes as he holds his sword aloft.

"Are you ok?" I quickly ask Cara, before she can take off after them into the small house.

"Of course," she answers gruffly, though her eyes are watering.

I lift my hands to her face, trying to remove some of the dirt that is clinging to her skin; thumb gently brushing over her dusty eyebrows and wet cheeks. She swats me away before I can do more, but I see a brief glimmer of gratitude as I drop my hands and let her be.

She instantly follows Richard and I wait with Zedd for the all clear, seeing no point in putting us all in danger. Feeling Zedd's gaze boring into me I look his way. There is confusion in his eyes; but more than that, I see pity there, and a reflection of my own pain.

"Be careful, Kahlan," he says softly.

I crease my brow, seeming confused, and shrug off his remark. I won't allow him to shake me or prick at me with even more guilt.

Taking a breath I look away from him.

"You can come in," Richard calls from within the cottage; I practically sigh in relief.

I squint into the darkness and enter, Zedd following slowly behind. Finding myself in a narrow hall I turn towards the open doorway to the left where the orange glow of a fire creeps its way over cobwebs and years of filth.

"It's just an old man," Richard says, and I watch as Cara rolls her eyes, giving him a look that makes me think of a parent chastising a child.

"There is no such thing as 'just'," Cara says. "Zedd is an old man, and there is certainly no 'just' about him!"

Rightfully scolded, Richard nods, realising his mistake as he lifts his sword higher.

"Who are you?" he questions the old man, who is slumped on the floor in a corner, a tatty blanket wrapped around his seemingly frail body.

The man's eyes are wide, his skin so pale I can see blue veins standing out under the scant light of the fire in the hearth. He looks afraid but we have to be careful. Stepping forward a little – placing myself between the two rather intimidating Mord-Sith – I lean down to catch his eyes.

"Tell us who you are," I say softly. "We won't hurt you."

Cara makes a sound behind me that clearly states she makes no such promise. She's unaware that I am ready for any eventuality, however. All it would take is the lifting of my hand to him to take his will away and leave him helpless.

With a gruff, probably long underused voice he answers.

"I am but an old man," he says, eyes watery as he looks at me. "I didn't mean to do those things . . . he left me no choice, he . . ."

Moving to my side Cara points an agiel threateningly at him.

"What things?" she asks abruptly. "Who?"

"He has no magic of his own," he continues, muttering as if to himself.

"The man is clearly senile," Garen grunts, striding around the small room, poking at furniture with her agiel, looking behind things, into things. "And this place is disgusting."

I almost want to chuckle as I notice the look of revulsion on her face. Turning back to the old man, I ask, "What is your name?"

He seems confused by the question, his lips quivering, gaze lowering to the ground.

"I was once an important man," he answers at length as Richard sheaths his sword and lowers himself to meet the old man's eyes. "Once as young as you," he continues, giving Richard a cracked smile.

Unsure if we need to be here, or if he still poses any kind of threat, or is of any use, I back away a little, leaving Richard and his kind eyes to gather more information. I stay within the room, listening to the explanation that comes with difficulty, Cara not far behind me – her presence always in my awareness.

After some time and Richard's gentle probing we discover that this decrepit old man was once the governor of the town we had been captured in. He had been usurped by his brother; forced to use the little magic he knew to cast an enchantment over the villa and its cells. Forced to leave at the mercy of his brother, never to return.

"He was jealous of you," Zedd guesses, offering the man a drink to ease his now parched throat. "For the magic you possess."

"Yes, though I have very little of it," the old man – Harte – answers, greedily taking from the water skin. "Our father was disappointed in my brother. It twisted him. Made my brother desperate for power."

"Is that why he doesn't want magic in the town? Because he doesn't want anybody to have what he doesn't?" Richard asks.

Harte nods, handing the water skin back to Zedd with a grateful smile.

"He wanted me to put a spell on the entire town, but I wasn't strong enough for that," he says, lowering his head as if in shame – his self worth destroyed years ago by his brother. "He banished me when I began to question what he . . . what he was doing with the Mord-Sith."

Both Garen and Cara step closer at that, their eyes hard and accusing.

"And what exactly was he doing?" Cara asks, danger in every syllable.

I try to catch her eye but she is focused solely on the man now hunched up in a worn old chair.

"It helps keep the people happy," he answers. "He tells them they are safer from the Mord-Sith in these parts now, because of him, but I saw what he allows in those cells, and it . . . it isn't right."

Garen grips her agiel tighter, holding herself stiff on the other side of me to Cara.

"They are not any safer," Garen spits. "His actions have been foolish. Any day now we plan to take the town and wipe it from the map."

There is real venom in her words and I shudder as the old man's eyes look up at her sadly.

"He takes Mord-Sith?" I ask unnecessarily.

"He called it preventative," Harte replies. "Take them before they can take our children. Though his ideas may have been well intentioned, his methods . . ."

I don't need him to continue to understand – just remembering the lecherous looks and crass words the guards had used with Cara leaves me cold. Fighting cruelty and brutality with equal cruelty and brutality is never the answer.

"We try to rescue as many as we can," Garen suddenly says, her voice softer than usual. "Though we can not be broken any more than we are, the things they do in that prison . . ."

My stomach clenches, a wave of nausea making me desperate for air. This room is stifling, dusty, and my head is beginning to pound. Why the compass brought us here is still not clear, but certainly there is something that must be done or learned. Perhaps we're needed to prevent an all out assault on the town by the Mord-Sith, or maybe there is more to the story than we know. Whatever it is, we cannot allow it to take too much time away from our quest for the Stone of Tears. We must get to the bottom of this as quickly as possible.

"Richard," I say, gaining his attention as I step towards the door. "Can I speak with you?"

He raises himself from the dirty couch he was perched on, following me to the chilly night outside.

"I know," he says, before I can ask any questions or tell him my thoughts. "We need to know why we're here and what to do."

Richard begins to pace, his brow furrowed as he allows the Seeker in him to take over, to guide him. Slipping the compass from his pocket his brow creases further. Stepping beside him I see that it's now pointing back into the forest.

"This is leading us to the town," he says with confidence.

"How do you know?" I question.

"I just do," he replies, looking up into my eyes. "We need to go back."

The change in him is instant as he places aside his fears and concerns and embraces all that he truly is. I feel confident in his choice, and secure in the knowledge that it is my duty to follow his lead. No matter what else, I am still his Confessor.

"Should we take Harte with us?" I ask, nodding towards the broken old cottage.

"Yes," he says, giving my arm a squeeze before heading back through the door.

A sense of dread begins to sink into my stomach but I push it aside. We will do whatever is necessary, as is our way. This small family we have become may well just save all that we know, despite the troubles brewing within it.

TBC…


End file.
